The Quin Effect
by SummerDaisy411
Summary: To alleviate locked up stress in their lives, Starsky and Hutch add a new element to their love life after a unique and interesting chance meeting at a crime scene. What got them to that point? *Slash*


THE QUIN EFFECT  
 _A Starsky and Hutch Fan Fiction  
by SummerDaisy_

 _To alleviate locked up stress in their lives, Starsky and Hutch add a new element to their love life after a unique and interesting chance meeting at a crime scene. What got them to that point?_

 _(I do not own Starsky, nor do I own Hutch, Dobey or Huggy Bear. I would consider renting them, however. No money being earned from this extreme bit of fantasy. This fanfiction is a slash story that centers around BDSM. If this makes you feel oogy or icky, please move along. Nothing to see here… ~SpringDaisy)_

It was a sunny late afternoon, but Hutch had no idea. He had been kept in the bedroom with the drapes closed for a while now. The last hour blindfolded. He was exhausted. His arms bound at the wrists and attached by chain to a metal hook in the wall just above the headboard. His legs spread eagle, cuffed ankles bound to each post at the foot of the bed. He was naked save for a leather cock and ball harness pulled to its tightest setting at the base of his penis and around his scrotum denying him an orgasm he had been teased with for hours. A modestly sized butt plug rudely polluted his ass making him tilt his pelvis every now and then just to change the direction of pressure it was creating in its tight canal, once in a while getting it to press on his prostate which was a prize in itself. And the collar…. The collar that defined his existence at this place while confined as such... Once it was on him –

A slight breeze as the door scraped open lifted the blond locks of hair that had curled and settled on Hutch's forehead in the sweat of his outrageous orgasm he had for brunch. His respirations increased and he puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled in place of speaking, which was forbidden. And then the telltale shuffle of work boots made its way first to the window as the drapes were deftly pulled wide open, then to the bed.

He heard a deep breath, and then a sigh. "Your skin is beautiful in the sunlight." One lone finger invited itself into Hutch's mouth and twisted around teasing his tongue as it gathered saliva, then slowly traced down from the mouth, over each ring of cartilage of his throat above and below the edges of the leather collar, then around each nipple, stopping every so often to pinch each one to attention. Hard.

"You're too quiet, babe." Starsky knew that they had both been too quiet leading up to this session. Quiet. Angry. The victim of secrets from each other. "I'm surprised you needed me to tell you to come here. You could have just covertly followed me under cover. You excel at that."

Still, Hutch remained obedient. Silent. He would play the role. Play the game. Guilt was driving his motivation.

"Wonder if I should test your patience."

"Starsk….," He finally released with a shudder of intense need.

"Uh… no. I didn't ask you anything directly. You're not allowed to speak. You're nothing, remember?" He paused to give a deep, but short, laugh. "I'd give you another demerit to add to the eight you've already acquired, but instead I think I'll gift you your punishment for this right now."

Hutch squirmed as he anticipated with both excitement and fear, Starsky's announcement. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it after taking a deep breath. There was no way he was going to give Starsky any more ammunition. They were equally pissed at each other but seeing as he was completely restrained, Starsky certainly had the upper hand. They had had a tenuous week or two with mostly bitter silence between them the last few days. Hutch almost turned down Starsky's suggestion of one of their sessions when their 'talks' about what had been going on between them had resulted in nothing but more backs turned, silence and each one of them taking a turn at walking out punctuated by a sharp slam of the door. Something told him to let it play out. As soon as he had settled back with that deep breath he felt agonizing bilateral pain in his nipples as Starsky applied the hated clamps to them at the same time. Hutch moaned through clenched teeth, his back arching as though pushing away the sharp pain.

"Now, now sweet thing," Starsky scolded. "Take your medicine," he sing-songed wearing a lilted smile Hutch could see in his mind's eye.

"God, _Starsk_ …." Involuntary tears welled in his eyes but stayed in place, for now. So many times Starsky had driven Hutch to the brink of tears during these sessions but Hutch always held back. He never handed that one bit of control over to Starsky, the Master. _Never_. But he also knew that Starsky would never take it that far.

"Another outburst." Starsky shuffled away from the bed. Hutch could hear him rifling through the duffle bag he used to bring his supplies and toys. "Oh, I think you're gonna love this. I know _**I**_ will."

Starsky kneeled with one knee on the bed next to Hutch and leaned his own raging hard-on tightly packed into his jeans against the blonde's hip before picking up Hutch's stiff cock and petting the crown, catching the rivulets of pre-come and noisily sucking them off his thumb like frosting from a cupcake. "Mmmm," he savored with his voice before taking one, then two licks of Hutch's swollen cock head, and then encircling it with his whole mouth before pushing the tip of his tongue into the slit. He finally sucked the entire end of the organ lifting the tormented's hips off the bed in response, the blindfold hiding Hutch's eyes as they rolled into his head in ecstasy. "I love what this cock harness does for you. Who knew you could take an already huge cock and make it bigger? Huh? Well, I think I have to dress it up a bit."

Hutch could feel the cold smoothness of stainless steel circling the head of his cock.

"Got your stunning penis plug. Look." The sun pricked Hutch's eyes as Starsky removed his blindfold and tossed it aside. In front of him, Starsky was holding the stiff, metal band that fit over the glans of the penis with the attached plug that curved up and over the top, then inserted in the urethral opening.

" _No._ It… that… goes on when I'm flaccid. I'm... I'm… too _big_ for it now." Panic was evident as he looked back and forth from Starsky to the penis jewelry. "It's impossible," he whispered, rolling his eyes and turning his head away from Starsky.

Starsky let Hutch's objection go knowing that this was a painful challenge for his "sub".

"Noise, babe. Anything other than your safe word is just noise. We're not there, are we?"

Hutch looked pointedly at Starsky with a crumb of fear in his eyes but did not opt to use his agreed upon safe word: ' _Vanessa'_. Not only would his ex-wife's name alone deflate both of their erections, but, as per the rules, it would end their session and their weekend at the cottage with no ill feelings. Although he had agreed to let Starsky have one veto in lifetime over the safe word – given to Starsky in the form of a red Monopoly 'Get out of Jail Free' card -, he doubted Starsky would ever go there. Hutch had yet to use the word. He trusted Starsky implicitly, with his life and his heart. Starsky always knew how to heal him.

With eyes finally focused, Hutch looked at his lover wearing the too-tight jeans and work boots that always turned him to jelly. Without a shirt, Starsky's furry chest and toned abdomen made Hutch greedy with lust. He reflexively spread the fingers on his hand and strained against the chains wanting to run his hands down the dark chest straight to the hidden bulge.

"Oh, babe," Starsky half smiled, "you're _so_ needy. I have the solution right here." He rubbed the stainless steel contraption up and down the rock hard cock before sticking the end of his pinky finger roughly into the slit. "Time to pay the piper."

Hutch was scared of what the tight penis plug would feel like on his engorged cock and it showed. Starsky knew that this was the peak – the point at which he pushed Hutch just to his breaking point. Each session it became harder to do. With each session Hutch's infallible trust grew.

"Not impossible, babe." He was in full Master mode now. Thoughtful, yet unforgiving. "Painful, maybe. But not impossible. Now hold still."

Without waiting one more second he squeezed the base of Hutch's penis even harder than the harness. Hutch groaned loudly as his cock deflated slightly and pulsed within Starsky's strong fist.

"Breathe deep, and…"

With arrogant confidence Starsky inserted the lubed-up 2-inch long metal plug down into the slit, slowly and with great intention. He then maneuvered the metal ring around the cock's glans giving Hutch good reason to release a guttural cry. The plug wasn't so bad, but the metal band practically strangled the semi-erect crown of his penis. Now his cock was choked at both ends.

" _Babe_. Slow down. Hmm? Breathe. Your first orgasm today was an explosion and now you're so vulnerable … feeling everything twice as much. So sensitive." Starsky spoke with meticulous purpose, guiding Hutch with firm, but gentle reassurance. "I know you're spent, but I'm so proud of you. You're doing so good."

Hutch couldn't help himself, despite the agony at his midsection, to correct him. " _Well_ ," he grunted. "Doing so _well_."

"Fucking scholar athlete," Starsky mumbled with a hitch of a chuckle. As angry as he was at his lover, when Starsky looked at him - restrained, pale skin glistening in layers of hard earned sweat, all helpless, exposed and open to whatever Starsky wanted to do to him - he couldn't help feeling the twinge in his chest just like he got when they shared their first kiss. He pet Hutch's heaving belly just above the dark, golden pubes with his free hand then moved up and put his mouth intimately close to the blonde's ear while maintaining the tight grip on the strapped and bejeweled cock. "I love you, Hutch, no matter what. You can do it. You want this, right?"

Like an obedient school boy, Hutch nodded. "Yesssss."

"I am going to touch you everywhere," Starsky whispered into Hutch's ear, not touching. Just whispering and breathing. "Kiss you. Nibble, stroke, maybe scratch. Oh yeah – especially around your balls," he droned on feeling Hutch's raging sexual heat rise from his body. Starsky touched him with the tips of his fingers swirling and stroking his lips, chest, navel and arms. Everywhere but nowhere…. Nowhere near where Hutch really wanted him to touch. "And suck you. And fuck you. But no cumming for you. Not yet." Hutch raised his ass in the air trying desperately to touch any part of Starsky with his hard, tortured cock. "You'll just have to keep it bottled up. You do it so well with your emotions and words; this should be a piece of cake." Punishing, sarcastic words.

After Starsky moved his warm, moist lips over Hutch's cheek and placed a sweet kiss on the quivering mouth, Hutch nodded his head and kept his feelings in check, but as soon as he opened his eyes and looked deeply into Starsky's blue orbs just inches away from his, Starsky moved his hand roughly up and down Hutch's painfully engorged cock that tried in vain to ejaculate. Those in-check feelings just checked out. With his head thrown back and mouth wide open, he screamed, silently at first, then issued a high pitched variety before Starsky laid the agonizingly bloated cock back onto his lover's belly. Again, orgasm denied.

"Shhh…. Babe… Shhhh." Starsky's voice was deep and hot with love and passion as he moved off the bed no longer maintaining any physical contact with his slave.

"Open your eyes, Hutch."

He did as he was told. He always did. Well… almost. Turning his sweaty head to the left Hutch found his eyes just a few inches from Starsky's solidly erect cock up and out of the top of his jeans being stroked.

"Look what you do to me, babe." Starsky moved his hand up and down his cock, slowly tipping his pelvis forward towards Hutch's mouth, but never close enough to touch. "So hot. You make me so hot for you." Hutch was mesmerized as he licked his lips and watched his lover masturbate. At home, Starsky knew that if he was in the mood, and Hutch wasn't, all he had to do to rectify the situation was pull out his rod and give Hutch a solo show. It didn't take long before Hutch was on his knees, cock in mouth. Doing this made him horny as hell.

"P-p-please," Hutch begged as he swallowed hard, eyes wide with wanton desire. "Let me…"

"Not yet, babe. First you have to find your place."

No matter how intense the session got…. No matter how high the pain level, Starsky had to keep the emotions tamped down. As Master, he was the controller. Even keel, was the game plan. Hutch depended on it. If he showed any panic or fear Hutch would never be able to cope. Much like handling perps and victims, their tone predicted the outcome.

"Go inside yourself." This was his cue. "Focus, boy. Get to that place. Release your body from your mind and give it to me." Hutch barely let out a soft growl as he concentrated on getting himself in the zone, moving his thoughts away from the excruciating pain centers at his wrists, ankles, penis, balls and nipples. It was a form of meditation for him almost like Starsky had to create these pain centers in order for Hutch to clear his head, by force.

"Tell me, Hutch. Who do your belong to?"

"You," he answered as he seemingly drifted away. "You. Mind, body and soul."

"Mmm. Good boy. My boy."

Starsky alternately nipped and kissed Hutch's body with fervor. Back and forth he went from Hutch's neck and chest to his abdomen and balls, the nips eventually turning into bites. He would be marked for a few days, for sure.

Starsky reached down and took hold of a remote control, bringing it into Hutch's line of sight, at first confusing his sub, but not for long. Starsky thumbed the toggle on the side sending earth crashing vibrations to the butt plug. Hutch's moan was deep and fluttered with the shiver of his lower lip.

Hutch kept his eyes closed as he concentrated on taking the pain from the bites that resumed as calmly as he took the sweet kisses and vibrations. Finally his eyes settled at half-mast and his breathing tempered to a slower rate. Starsky knew that Hutch had fallen into 'the zone', the goal of these sessions. They had discovered some time ago that Hutch's need to be controlled especially after a prolonged period of stress on the job where he was the master of control 24/7 as he rolled a case from initial review to final interrogation and arraignment, was the only way he could come down. Without it he shut people out, refused to eat or sleep properly and even raged.

Starsky, on the other hand during these cases, stepped back and let Hutch take the lead. He became the follower. Hutch absorbed all of Starsky's stress and worries while Starsky pointed Hutch in the right direction and kept his bright, organized mind on the case. This was the magic of their team. It worked for them. It had for years. That is, until they became lovers.

After a set of long grueling cases, or a particularly disturbing one, both men found themselves needing to unwind with a night of unbridled passion. Then it took more than one night. Eventually it became more than passion starting with tying each other up and using blindfolds. But it didn't always work for them. Their haphazard lovemaking didn't always remove the pent up rage they each shared as they struggled to find their boundaries and limits. Hutch needed to _**be**_ controlled, Starsky needed _**to**_ control. They just hadn't figured that out yet. Not until a bust one weekend when they were backing up the vice squad after working a week of double shifts and not solving one case put in front of them.

"Gilligan or the skipper?"

Starsky's back was heating up as he stood against the metal wall on the south side of the warehouse door.

"What?" Hutch was identically flush against the wall on the other side of the door, both waiting to get the go ahead to enter the building. They'd been standing there for close to half an hour.

"Would you be Gilligan or the skipper? Or maybe the professor?"

Hutch squinted against the afternoon sun beating into their faces. Guns were drawn and at the ready but patience was waning. "Not doing this, Starsky." He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sweat-soaked sleeves up above the elbows to try and get some minimal relief.

"Come on. We're just standing here killing time." He shifted his weight and put his left foot up against the wall, resting his gun on his propped up knee. "OK. I'll start. I think I'd be the professor."

"Yeah right, Gordo," Hutch gave with a snort.

"What? You don't think I'm dapper enough to be the professor?"

"You're not _smart_ enough to be the professor."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"And the white pants. You could never pull that off, dummy." Hutch was on a roll.

"I'll have you know I can do the New York Times crossword puzzle in pen."

"In less than a month? Without asking Huggy for help?"

"And I happen to look great in white pants."

"As tight as you wear them? You'd turn Thurston Howell into a fairy before stepping off the boat."

"See? I'd give the old coot a fucking heart attack. One less mouth to feed. That takes smarts."

Both men exhaled and called a reticent truce. Silence mocked the boredom as they were forced to continue to stand at the ready.

"Six new cases this week," Starsky lamented, "three of them soon-to-be fucking cold cases, and we didn't make progress on _any_ of them. Not one."

"The little kids that found their parents' bodies…" Hutch relaxed his shoulders in defeated exhaustion. "I just… _God_ …"

"I know, buddy. I know."

"And when that sweet girl with the big eyes and bows in her hair begged me…. _begged me_ , Starsk… to wake up her mamma, I just stood there like a heartless bastard."

"Not true, Hutch. Sometimes there are just no words."

He let the weight of his gun drag his arm down against his side as Hutch spoke to his feet. "Who's gonna put the bows in her hair?"

Starsky shifted from one foot to the other, his gun getting heavier in his hand as the interminable wait and rude sun slowed time down. "They're in foster care now," he said knowing full well his attempts to placate Hutch's guilt would go as smoothly as they had ever gone… which was, well, not at all. "She's being taken care of," he added feeling like it was a lame effort. Knowing.

Hutch snorted and released a nervous chuckle. "Yeah… right."

"You can't make every victim's family a social cause, Hutch. I know you just want to give yourself to these cases, but sometimes you gotta keep a piece of that big heart for yourself."

True to form, Hutch didn't hear a word his well-meaning partner was saying. "When is enough _enough_?" He carried guilt on his back like a damn Siamese twin. "God, Starsk. That one just about killed me."

"Yep. I know, Blintz." Nothing else he could say. Just breathe deeply and agree. "You gotta let the control go, babe. Just let go."

"And this…" he said waving his hand over his head at the warehouse, "whatever we're doing here…. Jeez, Starsk, I feel like we've been demoted."

"Departmental shared services," Starsky spit out mocking their Captain. "Same old bullshit. Different fucking day."

More dead time passed as they waited to hear the first team enter the building.

"Pretty sure _**I**_ would be the professor," Hutch finally offered.

"Nah. But I'd look good in the Skipper's hat," Starsky countered. "And I'd do a better job. We'd have been rescued already."

"You can't be the Skipper, Starsk. There can only be _one_ Skipper."

A sudden crashing paired with official shouts came from within the warehouse: their cue to enter the building. Starsky and Hutch were positioned at the southwest rear entrance near the vacant rooms most likely to harbor illegal drugs. As per their usual, with guns drawn, Starsky went low, Hutch went high as they swept the entrance and started clearing rooms. The first two were empty but neatly organized and tidy containing unusual looking furniture, leather equipment and hardware bolted to the walls and ceiling. Making quick pass-throughs to clear them of people they saw no drugs or weapons. Not even alcohol.

The last room was not so empty. Hutch kicked in the door of what looked to be a file room and immediately fell on top of an overly thin, bedraggled, filth laden girl sitting on the floor with a hypodermic needle in the crook of her arm. He took the empty syringe and hurled it across the room. She didn't care. A fleeing tear of blood trickled from the vacant puncture site down across her scar riddled wrist. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed onto Hutch's accidental lap and into the bliss of her short term heroin high.

" _Fuck_ ," Hutch raged as he turned her on her side atop hundreds of tiny baggies of heroin all prepped for sale. He waged a short war with several of the junk filled parcels that stuck to the sweaty skin of his arm haphazardly brushing them off like disease coated bugs. " **SHIT** ".

Starsky whispered to himself through a frustrated breath. "Oh boy."

"She's just a _kid_. Can't be more than sixteen."

"Hutch…"

" _Son of a bitch_."

"Hutch…"

" **FUCK**!"

" **HUTCH**." Starsky holstered his gun then dropped down to a knee in front of his partner, placing a hand on Hutch's shoulder. A wired Hutch is a walled off Hutch. Starsky knew as much. This little vulgar corner of Ken Hutchinson rarely made itself known.

"Hutch. Let the uniforms take care of this." He looked at the doorway and directed the two cops into the room. "Wilson, wanna cuff her and take -"

"Don't bother," Hutch pined. He sat on the floor next to the girl, his knees drawn up, head fallen forward in worn out defeat, gun pointed lazily down. "She's flying high. Keep her on her side for another 5 minutes in case she pukes. Then have paramedics transport her to the hospital." He spoke as an expert. "Make sure she doesn't stop breathing." He _was_ an expert, of sorts. Memories of his own short and forced heroin addiction never strayed far. " _ **FUCK**_." He balled his fist and pounded it into his hip.

"Come on Professor." Starsky looked at the uniforms and back at his partner trying to lighten the situation. "I just heard Dobey's all-clear. Let's take this outside so the guys from Vice can get in here and start tagging evidence." He pulled Hutch up by the elbow, took his partner's gun and re-holstered it then, when the uniforms weren't looking, gave his filthy butt a couple quick brushes of the hand like a parent. "Out we go, Ollie."

The area outside of the warehouse back door was devoid of anyone. No cops. No cars. Nothing. Just the two of them.

"Hutch." Starsky looked into the pained eyes of his partner. "It was a long time ago. You're OK. Have been. She'll get help. Right? Hmm?"

Normally, this does it. Just Starsky's gentle smile, warm hands on Hutch's arms and calming voice bring Hutch back to earth. Back to rational thought. They'd done it for each other many times.

 **SLAM**! Starsky ducked with a hand over his ear as Hutch started hammering his large open palm into the variegated metal siding of the storage shed they had retreated next to.

" _Fuck_ **."** Slam **. "Fuck!"** SLAM **. "** Why? Why do I still f-f-feel that _shit_ in my veins and…. and…?" His body let go of an involuntary shiver as he rested his head between his hands against the wall. "I know…." He halted, his mouth unable to get out the words, as he lifted a hand to point at the door of the warehouse.

"Know what, partner?" Starsky asked evenly, calmly. He didn't look where his partner was pointing. He didn't have to.

"I **know** …"

"Hutch?"

"I _know how_ …"

"Babe, please look at me."

Hutch finally moved just his tired eyes from the wall back to his partner, his forehead still firmly pasted against the siding. With a resigned and painfully intimate tone as though he was confessing a deep, dark sin, he finished his thought. "I know how _**good**_ she feels right now."

"It'll go away Hutch. Just give it a minute," he reassured him with eyes almost begging for understanding. "There are other highs I can get you. Just like always."

No one was around and Starsky certainly didn't want Hutch's temper to elevate to the next level, so he turned him around, his shoulders firmly flat to the wall, then took the blonde's wrists in a strong grip and held them over his head against the same metal he had been pounding. His ears didn't need any more of that.

"Who do you trust, babe? Hmm?"

"You…" Hutch's eyes were wide open, pupils dilated as he focused on Starsky's face right in front of his. "You… always," he almost whispered, his voice cracking with frustration.

"That's right. Me." Starsky purposely poked his finger back and forth into each of their chests to make the point. "Me and thee." With that he broke the rule of keeping their personal life behind closed doors and kissed Hutch. The first one was soft and gentle. But when Hutch squirmed Starsky did the only thing he knew would break him – he pushed his arms and body even harder against the building, clacking their holstered guns together, and nailed him with a kiss so hard and filled with undeniable passion that he bit into Hutch's lower lip, drawing a drabble of blood.

Hutch exhaled a world of stress and fear before relaxing his body into Starsky's, his forehead resting on Starsky's shoulder. He took the moment to inhale his lover's scent, then placed a gentle kiss on his neck tasting the slick saltiness he'd come to crave.

"Well if that ain't the signature of a master and his sub," came a moderately deep voice shadowed with an accent from the south.

Starsky quickly released Hutch who straightened his shirt and turned away from the man, wiping the scant blood from the corner of his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Where'd you come from, huh?" asked Starsky authoritatively. "Assume the position."

"Now we're talking. Which one, sweetie?"

"Shut up." Starsky swiftly turned the guy around and pushed him against the wall they were just grinding against quickly frisking him.

"I'm right, aren't I? You're the _dom_ , and blondie over there is the dutiful _sub_."

Starsky ignored the creep as he used his hand to firmly push his face harder into the wall. "Got any drugs on you? Weapons or needles I should know about? Huh?"

"Ah, no. But it's hard to talk with my face smashed into this hot metal. And I don't _use_ , or _deal_."

"What _do_ you do? Forget it. Don't answer that." Starsky found nothing of importance on the man and whipped him around flashing his badge in his face. " **Name**."

"Quin."

"Quin _what_?"

"Actually it should be _what_ Quin. And that would be _Master_ Quin."

"Not amusing, clown." Starsky's measure of piss was rising as the man's snarkiness played the scene. "I want a name and what your purpose is here."

Off to the side, Hutch had finally turned back to face the commotion trying to look composed. His outstretched hand leaned against the wall. His tongue poked out to sooth his nicked lip.

"Quinton Duvret. I rent a couple rooms here inside the back door. I was told by the owner to get my stuff out today because he was going to be closing it up for good. The lease is back in my truck. End of story."

Hutch moved in. "Describe the rooms."

"Two of them, identically decked out in typical BDSM furniture and accessories: harnesses, floggers, paddles, cuffs, chains… toys. All very _expensive_ equipment, if you know what I mean…. And I bet you do."

A very young looking uniformed cop appeared passing on information from the command center – clearly having been given the job that day as gopher and messenger. "Captain Dobey says to wrap things up here," the rookie gave them. "Crime lab wants to get started."

"What's your name?" Starsky asked looking at the nametag on the uniform. "Becker. OK, Officer Becker, take Mr. Duvret…"

" _Master_ ," Quin corrected him, which in turn earned him Starsky's strong, unforgiving forearm on his neck, his body slamming back hard into the metal. " _Ah, Jeez_ , copper, lighten up."

"Wrong, scum," Starsky hissed so close to the perp's face he could feel the warmth of his own breath bounce back at him. "It's _**Detective Sargent**_ and you will address me as such. You will do what **I** say and keep your mouth **shut**. Got it?"

Quin's mouth curled up on one side halfway between a smirk and satisfied smile. "Oh, you're _good_."

Starsky shoved Quin one more time into the hot metal before Hutch very calmly walked up and put his hand on his partner's braced forearm that _so_ wanted to choke out the man.

"Hey, Starsk," he quietly spoke while quickly directing his eyes to the wide eyed, obviously nervous rookie in uniform. "Not now. Looks like we got a cherry boot."

Starsky stepped back putting his professional demeanor back on as a senior officer. He straightened his jacket then condescendingly reached out to the perp and brushed his own leather jacket off with both hands, slowly, with purpose. "By the book, Officer Becker. Cross your T's and dot your I's. Especially with this one."

Becker nodded while cuffing the prisoner.

"Ooh…. Hand cuffs. Nice choice of restraint. But I prefer to be bound at the elbows with stiff leather."

Starsky grimaced. "You just don't know when to quit."

"What's the charge….?" the young cop asked with an obvious look of confusion on his face. Starsky was beyond drained and just stood there forcing the green cop to look to the other detective. "…Detective Hutchinson?" Most of the uniforms knew who Starsky and Hutch were. Those who didn't learned quickly.

"Loitering," Hutch gave him, pulling it out of thin air.

The rookie was definitely puzzled. "Loitering? That's just a citation."

Starsky was too busy watching his partner's face, concerned that Hutch hadn't said much. When Hutch failed to answer, he found a charge more ridiculous than the original. "…with intent to incite mayhem."

"Wha… Is there a penal code for that?"

"Just **do** **it** kid," Starsky threw out tiredly. "Never mind, we're right behind you. Make him comfortable in an interrogation room. If we feel accommodating enough, maybe we'll talk to him tonight."

They waited until they were alone again to look at each other and validate what just happened.

"That guy… the perp… he know about us," Hutch said while looking down at the ground, hands in pockets.

"His word against ours, and ours would win. You know that Hutch."

"Yeah," Hutch admitted through an exhausted exhalation. "I guess."

"You OK, buddy?"

"Getting there." Hutch straightened up and gave Starsky a loving pat on the cheek before heading to the warehouse door. "Let's see what Master Quin left behind in his dungeons."

It was a slow, mostly silent ride back to Metro with Hutch maintaining his right angled stare out the passenger window.

"Wanna stop for food? It's almost 4 o'clock and we haven't eaten since the stale donuts this morning."

"No," Hutch answered feebly, still staring out the side window. "Not hungry."

"Tired?"

"Always."

"Want me to drop you at home? I can finish up with Dobey."

"No. Got a lot of calls to make on that Quin character."

Starsky's last ditch effort came as they pulled into the alley behind the station. He knew what the answer would be. He knew that Hutch had packaged up all of his frustration, fear, doubt and guilt and put it in a neat little corner of his mind. But he still tried.

"Hey, wanna talk?"

Hutch shook his head never even looking over at his partner. "Just…. don't." The classic Hutchinson Shut Down Maneuver. Starsky knew better than to push it. There would be time.

They walked into the station together, as usual. But as they got to the third floor Starsky noticed that his 'better half' had veered off towards the locker room.

"Hutch? Where are….?"

"Gotta take a shower."

"Really? Now?" The last thing he saw was Hutch putting his hand up to wave Starsky off. Hutch – also the master of avoidance.

"Starsky…. Hutchinson…. GET IN HERE!"

"Wouldn't be a happy ending to a productive week without your kind invitation to an office party, Cap," Starsky pushed with his usual bratty tone.

" **Can it**." Harold Dobey, the larger than life - vertically and horizontally - Captain of homicide detectives, squinted his eyes in drained disgust at Starsky's flippancy while shutting his office door behind the two detectives.

"Sit down." His eyebrows rose when movement didn't happen. "I said SIT." It's amazing what some direction can do. Hutch sat in the chair directly in front of his supervisor's desk while Starsky parked himself in his routine spot on the same chair's armrest.

"Now, how about you tell me why there is a smart mouthed perp taking up residence in one of my interrogation rooms with NO pending charges, NO record of him at the scene, yet **you** are the arresting officers and **you** were at the scene."

"Well, we didn't exactly arrest him," Starsky countered.

Dobey picked up a paper trying to be calm. The operative word here being ' _trying'_. "This here," he paused making sure his detectives were paying attention, "is an _arrest_ report with your names on it completed by an over achieving rookie street cop by the name of 'Becker'. See that?" He dutifully pointed to the title at the top of the document and continued his rant with said document inches from their faces. "It's nice to see someone around here doing something _by the book_ for once."

"Yep, by the book," Starsky repeated while rolling his eyes. "Taught him everything I know."

"It says you _arrested_ him," Dobey continued as the veins in his neck started to bulge. Never a very good sign. "Doesn't that make you two boy scouts the _**arresting**_ _**officers**_?"

Dobey looked at Hutch for clarification and got the slightest uncomfortable nod in return.

"And, look here," he pointed to a blank spot on the report, snapping the paper to support his argument, "where it says 'charges', it's blank. Isn't that interesting? So when you two arrested him…"

"But Cap, we didn't technically _arrest_ him…" Starsky continued with his usual bluff.

If a dark skinned man could blush bright pink, Dobey did right then. "THEN WHY AM I READING AN ARREST REPORT WITH NO CHARGES?"

"You see, we found him loitering out back…"

"Loitering? LOITERING? Is that what you're tying up valuable resources for?" He looked between each man. Starsky's eyes scanned the entire office… everywhere except back at Dobey. Hutch sat with a wide hand over his face, peaking between spread fingers, knowing full well this was going nowhere, fast.

"Hutchinson? You got a better truth than your cognitively challenged partner here?"

"Not really."

"Then get that creep out of here. And while you're at it, tell him to stop yammering about you two being hard core, homosexual sex prostitutes or some such nonsense."

Starsky and Hutch turned to each other with wide eyed glares and bolted from their superior's office.

"We're on it, Cap," they blurted out together.

Hutch double backed to grab the arrest report from their Captain's desk. "Thanks Skipper," he threw out.

"What did you call me?"

"Skipper. Could be worse. You could be Gilligan."

Hutch nearly ran into Starsky who was listening in on the exchange. "Did you just call him Skipper?"

"Told you there could only be one."

Starsky liked that for the moment he could get Hutch to lighten up. "And Gilligan?"

"That's easy. Huggy."

"Clearly."

The rush to get down to the interrogation room ended when they entered the vacant stairwell and closed the door behind them

"Starsk," Hutch put his arm out keeping his partner from descending the stairs. "I just… I… look, I'm…"

Starsky knew what he was trying to say. "Hutch, there's nothing to be sorry for. It's been a hell of a week and, like always, you have gathered all of the stress – yours and mine both– and hoarded it."

Hutch leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and let out a long awaited breath. "I'm just…. discouraged, I guess. And when that happens I… I…"

"I know. I'm fight, you're flight."

Hutch nodded in agreement, chin to chest.

"Ya know, Blondie, I used to think you were so hard to figure out. Like a thousand count jigsaw puzzle thrown up in the air. But, really, you're not. You need to let go."

Hutch gave him a half smile and stood straight, hands in pockets, as two uniforms came running up the stairs. Both detectives stood back away from each other… a dance they did at work every day out of necessity.

With the stairwell door closed and their privacy was reinstated, Starsky pulled Hutch's right hand from the pocket and fiddled with the fingers. "I know everything about you. Exactly what makes you tick, and what makes you shut down. All I can tell you is you're not alone. You're not alone, babe. Ever."

A warm, quick squeeze to the hand was all Starkey needed to know he had been heard, and in return he pat Hutch's belly with a wink. "Promise me you won't take flight and I'll make it worth your while – later."

Carrying the new file with the perp's picture on the front, the two detectives rushed down the stairs. Quinton Duvret was a well-groomed man standing over six feet tall. He sported large, saucy brown eyes and long, soft black curly hair tied back neatly. The silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down to his hips left no doubt that there was no body hair whether by choice or not. He obviously worked out with weights and sported muscle bound arms, shoulders and a hot, hard ass. That last fact Starsky was quick to point out to Hutch with waggling eye brows on their way down the empty stairwell.

"Trying to tell me something, Starsk?"

"No. Just making a statement of fact." He waved the picture in front of his partner's engaged face.

"I have to agree, that it's a fine fact," Hutch grinned as they rounded the corner and opened the door to the interrogation room.

"Up and out, Captain Douchebag," Starsky blurted pulling Quin out of the chair.

"Wait a minute. What's the charge? Huh? I'm a Therapeutic Sex Coordinator, not a criminal."

"AKA male hooker?" Hutch followed behind the other two carrying Quin's leather duster coat which not surprisingly matched his leather pants... and belt… shoes and gloves. Several cows died for that get-up.

"Look, I'll tell everyone in the precinct what you are to each other. If you're lucky you'll be run out of the department with only a few broken bones."

"And I'll tell our respected colleagues that you offered to blow me for five bucks. I know, because a very decorated Detective Sergeant Hutchinson here was a witness."

"Five bucks?" Quin complained as he put all his leather attire back on. "Do I _look_ that cheap? WAIT…. I don't do that shit. Stop. Just STOP."

At this point they were outside of the building in the back alley next to Starskey's Torino.

"Um….", Quin looked around sizing up the surroundings. "What law did I break?"

"Mr. Duvret," Hutch started with great professional effort, "it's late. We've put in double shifts all week. We could keep you here, interrogate you, find out what your connection is to the 249 baggies of heroin we found in the room next to your, um, business offices, but frankly it's not worth our time."

"I don't _do_ drugs. I don't _sell_ drugs. It's not part of the scene. Ever."

"We know," Starsky agreed. "We did some digging around, talked to some of your associates. You're legitimate."

"You _what_?"

"You should be careful about leaving lists behind leather whipping do-dads."

"No… NO. My clients depend on anonymity."

"Actually, Starsk," Hutch interjected with a thoughtful finger in the air, "I believe those were the paddle beater thingies."

"Really? Next to the tinker toys with hooks and fishing lures? Huh. Then what were those other cheerleader things, you know…."

During the sarcastic back and forth, Quin tried in vain to figure the two out, getting nothing but uncertainty. "Hey, gentlemen, if nothing is coming of this little trip, you think I could get a ride back to the warehouse so I can remove my property?"

"….Tickle sticks, Hutch. With the flippity leather pom-poms on the end…?"

"Yeah, those. Hey Duvret," Hutch asked, "suppose my nieces could borrow some of those things for Halloween?"

The leather clad man stood there in defeat looking between the detectives, shoulders fallen, and then stared at absolutely nothing in the distance. "Never mind," he gave with benign resignation, "I'll get a cab."

Starsky opened the driver's door and roughly pushed Quin into the back seat. "Fold yourself up in there, oh tall one. We'll get you back to your leather castle before midnight."

It took a while before the detectives got clearance from the departing crime scene team to empty out Quin's rooms. Since nothing in there related to the warrant, nor did the property even remotely hinge on illegal activity, the lead investigators were just as happy to have it removed and make it a non-issue.

"All right, Duvret," Hutch gave as he opened both rooms, "the whole building is a crime scene. Offending weapons and drugs have been removed. We've got the whole place to ourselves but you only have access to your two rented rooms. Nothing else. Clear?"

"Clear as a glass butt plug."

"We're essentially locked in here. Our only access is that back door. When it's closed, it's locked." Starsky threw a key to Quin and showed him an identical one they kept. "You go out, lock it. You come in, lock it. Just get your shit out. Everyone has vacated the area for the night. It's just us. They said you have twenty-four hours to get your things. We'll give you six. Consider it a gift."

As Quin worked in one room, Starsky and Hutch walked around the other one, completely identical in furnishings and accessories. The doors to both rooms across the hall from each other were left open so the detectives could keep an eye on him as he loaded boxes up and used power tools to pull bolts from the walls.

They walked a perimeter around the room touching the gadgets. Some familiar. Most not. Their imaginations wandered into wanton territory.

"What do you suppose he does in here?" Starsky asked holding up a set of wide leather cuffs hooked together.

"Looks kind of like what we do for fun, just on another level."

"We've always talked about doing more." Starsky teased with a half grin as he pushed Hutch against the padded wall out of sight, lips barely touching, tongue teasing at the entrance. "Bet these fit you, babe."

"Yeah right, bonehead."

"I got a bone for you, right here." While holding the cuffs in one hand, Starsky grabbed Hutch's open palm and traveled it down to the large bulge he was sporting in his tight jeans.

"Mmmm," Hutch stroked his partner's trapped bulge as he groaned into the kiss, inhaling Starsky's breath, his lips, his tongue. Tasting him. Needing to devour him. Needing to be devoured. Wanting to be taken. Hard. "Suppose there are rules?"

"A contract, actually." Quin was standing in the doorway punctuating his statement with a whir of the power drill.

"Again with the interloper," Starsky complained, stepping away from his partner who was left licking his lips and stretching his pelvis hoping to give his rock hard rod some room for circulation.

"Look, guys… I'm not the enemy here." Quin had a look of surrender on his face. "In case you haven't noticed, your two big guns trump my drill."

Starsky crossed his arms over his chest and held his elbows, closing himself off. He wasn't sure how to address this…. _situation_.

Hutch opened his mouth – started to say something – then closed it, mirroring Starsky's look.

"I know who you are," Quin offered as he leaned back against the leather padded table, crossing his ankles as he relaxed. "May I?"

The two detectives looked at each other, tilted their heads, raised eyebrows, then looked back at Quin as Hutch put out his hand, palm up, giving the Master the floor.

"Jesus, you two even communicate telepathically. You _so_ need this," he said almost to himself, but not quite. "OK. Here we go," he said letting out a deep breath, losing the snarky Quin and bringing out the serious and professional Master. Even his dramatic southern drawl became much less obvious. "You're cops. Well respected veteran detectives, even for your seemingly young age. But you're also lovers – passionate lovers, if you will. Definitely not just fuck buddies, right?"

The two stood stock still occasionally stealing glances with one another. Starsky validated that evaluation with one modest nod. It was obvious they knew that they were no longer supervising a crime scene, but instead, pupils in a classroom.

"It's a secret born out of necessity, bad enough in any job, but I imagine in this testosterone driven environment if it was found out you'd not only put yourselves in danger but eventually be unemployed and unemployable."

Still no movement from the guys.

"Now to the nitty gritty and how I read you. Hiding what you mean to each other for the majority of your waking hours must be unbearable. Wanting to touch. Needing to close the space between you, but you can't. Add to that the stress of your job investigating robberies and drugs–"

"—Murders," Starsky corrected him, clearing his throat. "We're actually homicide detectives."

"Even worse… and your emotions start to get tangled up inside of you like a ball of yarn after a cat party. Something needs to give – somehow you need to untangle all the knots in that yarn. There comes a time when there is an element of mental exhaustion stuck in your head that needs to get out. At some point in the not too distant past, an evening of very rough, restrained and somewhat violent sex between you opened the floodgates and released it. Right?"

Hutch released a pent up breath of agreement as he ran his hand through his hair.

" _Oh yeah_ ," Starsky agreed.

"There's some science to it – the release of endorphins and dopamine in the brain, and all that – but you can school yourselves on that. I don't need to."

The guys both furrowed their brow, clearly taking in what they were being told, much of it finally making sense of what they had been fumbling around with in the bedroom already.

"You've already discovered the beginning," Quin continued as he pushed away from the table and walked back and forth in front of the detectives, occasionally touching some of his equipment, purposely seeing if the two novices showed any curiosity. They did. "The needs and basics are there. You're just not sure why it works sometimes but not all the time. And it's never quite enough. Sometimes it's _too_ much. Where's the balance?"

They looked at each other and both nodded. What the hell. They had nothing to hide now.

"Tall, dark and curly here is definitely the "Dom", or dominant, also known as the master." Quin picked up a large dildo and turned it in his hands a couple times before pointing it at Hutch. "And golden boy here is the "Sub", or submissive. Some people call them slaves, but there is a difference. You're a sub, not a slave." He put the dildo back down next to the others before covering them with a black cloth and moving on to a wall mounted rack filled with various sizes of butt plugs, taking out one and moving it to a different spot so they were ordered by size. "Um… what do I call you, because coppers, fuzz, officers or detectives won't work."

"I'm Starsky, he's Hutchinson."

"No, still too formal and cop related."

"Dave and Ken work."

"OK. Dave and his sub. Just for the record, most subs are not given much of an identity when in the scene. No offense, Ken."

Hutch nodded with a tip of the head.

"You guys need training. Actually, the master is _trained_ and the sub _learns_. Do it right and this new chapter of your secret life will give you so much more to look forward to when you're cruising the streets than the plain standard vanilla sex in your bedroom – I call that 'sex in a box'. And, better, you will get intense relief you have _never_ known. I'll make you a deal. Help me move everything out of here into my truck tonight and I'll give you a couple of free sessions. I like you. I like a challenge. And believe me, you guys are a challenge."

They shrugged shoulders at each other, tilted heads and shared a concerned mouth twitch.

"Why do you do this?" Hutch asked. "Why be… um….. an instructor?"

"A lot of reasons, I guess," Quin said as he opened a few drawers and mindlessly looked through them as he formulated an organized answer. "Although I'm a master, I truly respect a sub. They allow masters to control and dominate, punish and deliver pain." He continued to take note of his equipment and talked as though answering this particular question for the first time. "They understand that their need to feel the relief that comes at the end of punishment or orgasm at the end of a brutal session is as freeing to them as what the master feels while giving that punishment. They want to give that to the Master – the gift of submission. For me, it's beautiful when I see a new Dom and Sub get it right in training, because it only gets better for them from there. And I know it'll be safe."

Quin finally gave his full attention back to Starsky and Hutch.

"Just a word of advice as you experiment with this - with or without me – This is recreation. Call it magnified love making, if you will. Be careful about blurring the lines between your bondage sex lives and the bedroom. As a committed couple you don't go to bed angry. At the same time, you shouldn't bring your spats to one of these sessions. At least, not without years of experience. Because no matter how aggressive it becomes, no matter how much control the sub gives to the master and the master ultimately uses, this cannot be a manipulative tool for your love."

The two detectives were taking this all in carefully.

"Jeez," Quin exhaled, "it's so much easier when the players don't know each other. Love complicates things."

Hutch looked down and grinned while giving Starsky's ass a soft stroke.

"Look… You can quit any time. I value confidentiality and will _never_ betray yours _whenever_ you decide to end this. But if you keep on exploring this then you need to learn how to do it safely. Too many people try it on their own and end up hurt, physically and emotionally." Sitting himself up on the padded table, Quin returned Hutch's hand gesture he got at the beginning of the conversation, giving the floor back to the guys.

"I'm willing," Hutch mumbled.

"I guess…." Starsky shifted from one foot to the other while still holding his arms defensively across his chest. "We've, um, talked about this before. Just didn't, ya know…"

Hutch read his partner's body language and knew that Starsky was hesitant only on Hutch's behalf. "Babe," he mumbled quietly into Starsky's ear with a light caress to his upper arm. "Why not? What are you thinking?"

"Hutch, I'm not naïve. Look around. You know what all this is for."

"You wouldn't be on the receiving end. Don't tell me you're worried about hurting me." Hutch stayed within a hair's width of Starsky's ear. "We've done this before. Just not…. Um…. We just haven't been technically proficient."

"But I'd be the one hurting you. I might really get into it," Starsky speculated. "I know I would," he admitted.

"And I wouldn't? Starsk, have I ever turned you down before? Have I ever asked you to stop?"

"Hutch, we could lose our jobs."

"I trust you, babe."

"Guys," Quin interrupted, "my clients range from college students and housekeepers to coaches, teachers, doctors, lawyers, judges, politicians and clergy. Oh, and cops. Plenty of them, and usually the higher ups. They all have everything to lose. When everyone has the same secret, it stays a secret."

"I guess," Starsky thought out loud. "We only called one person on your list of fake names and only because we recognized the number belonging to someone we know." He smiled as he remembered the pause at the other end of the phone and Huggy's realization of a secret revealed.

Hutch pulled his head back to look in his partner's eyes and gave him an almost unnoticeable tap on the arm. "Let's try." With a gentle kiss to Starsky's ear lobe, both men nodded in Quin's direction.

"Good. OK. First thing, you have to be comfortable in your birthday suits in front of me, both of you. Remember, I have seen it _all_. You have **no** idea."

Eyebrows raised between the two of them.

"Give me a break. I've already seen you two grinding against each other, _twice_ , sporting giant woodies. Case in point…" Quin hopped off the table and put his hands out grabbing both detectives' crotches – hard. "Land sake, gentlemen, those are some fine power tools you have there."

They both stepped back out of Quin's grip to save face.

"Tell you what. Let's just make sure that you aren't getting in over your head. I guess you need to ask yourselves, are you just wanting to explore the kink scene or do you really want to dip your toes into the BDSM pond. Understand?"

Both guys paid close attention and nodded in agreement.

"Let's see if you can handle the atmosphere and equipment. One more thing, gentlemen. I need proof that you will be able to deal with my presence at times. Just so you know. I will teach you and guide you. I will teach you how to restrain, hit, beat, paddle, even cum in different ways. There's a difference between hurting and injuring. The latter is **not** acceptable." He walked over and swept his palm over Starsky's ass before doing the same to Hutch's shirt covered chest, pausing to nudge a nipple with his thumb. "I will touch you in the role of trainer. And I mean _touch you_. That includes _everything, except_ penetration with my own woody. I'd thoroughly enjoy that, mind you, but I wouldn't compromise my role. Not that that doesn't happen with experienced players. Masters do loan out their subs or invite other masters in. But this is training and I know you guys are more to each other than just scene players. Be secure in that. OK?"

"Sure," Starsky answered for them both.

"How I touch you may not exactly seem instructional at the time, but you'll understand down the road. You absolutely have to trust me. There's a method to my…. Well, it's not madness, but it may seem like it at times. Fair warning."

"We're doing this tonight?" Starsky asked while getting another look at the room.

"You guys are pretty keyed up. Can't think of a better time, and the place seems to be available. Apparently for 24 hours. Or, at least six." Quin answered with a smile. "How long do your love making sessions usually go?"

Starsky snorted as he shared a sideways look with Hutch. "Did you pack a big lunch?"

"Like I said," Quin gave with his eyebrows raised, "you're a challenge."

Hutch cleared his throat before asking the obvious. "What exactly did you have in mind for this little trial run?"

"There's nothing little about bondage or BDSM…. or either of you." A slick smile swept across Quin's face. "Dave, you're the Dom here so what you say goes. You take no direction from him. He's nothing." Quin pointed at Hutch without even looking at him, getting into his Master role. "Ken needs to _be_ controlled. You need _to_ control. I'm right about this. I never get this part wrong."

Quin turned his attention to Hutch. "Normally what happens in a session is discussed and agreed upon before entering the space, getting undressed, etcetera. This is the how, what, where and even why of the session. As a sub, Ken, you would even get to pick the implements Dave would use on you and have a big say in what will happen. But it looks like we're improvising tonight. We'll call it a scaled back session. You guys aren't exactly virgins to this so it probably won't be as vanilla as most first training sessions. You OK with letting us decide things?"

"I trust Starsky," Hutch answered. "He knows my limits."

"Does he?"

Starsky reared back slightly at this question of doubt. "I'd like to think so."

"We'll find out. I suspect you have a lot to learn about your sub," Quin posed. "Dave, let me ask you something." Quin turned his back on Hutch, immediately getting into Master mode. "Who's the top in this relationship?"

Starsky grimaced slightly at the surprise question. "Oh, you mean who's the pitcher and who's the catcher?"

Quin rolled his eyes. "OK, yeah."

"Well, usually, um…. Hutch, here, is Tom Seaver and I play Johnny Bench. Unless it gets, ya know, rough. That's about the only time that I get to pitch."

"That's what I figured. Not unusual. Makes bondage extra special when you get to switch hit." Quin gave the guys a sly, hungry smile. "Just so you know, there are as many different styles of bondage masters as there are pebbles in a creek. I consider myself to be an _emotional sadist_ master. That means I flip between emotionally comforting my sub and dishing out physical punishment, as much as the sub can take. Consider that and walk away if you want."

Starsky gently stroked Hutch's hand, lovingly, with just his fingertips. In turn, Hutch reached behind Starsky and put his fingers down Starsky's back pocket, purposely scratching his ass with fingernails. It was their way of saying _, I'm OK with this if you're OK with this_.

Starsky immediately understood his lover's message. "That sounds about right…. for us…"

"I figured as much. It's show time, boys." Quin pushed Hutch's chest, roughly guiding him back to the wall. "Dave, take his gun thing off. We use leather. Just not that kind."

Taking the leather cuffs from Starsky as Hutch's holster was removed, Quin reached over to Hutch and buckled one to each wrist. Lined with lamb's wool, Hutch found the snug cuffs to be oddly comfortable.

"See the hooks up here?" Quin pointed to the top corners of the padded wall. "Second from the top should do. We normally restrain the legs as well, but I'll wait until you graduate from middle school today."

Before Hutch knew it his back was firmly against the wall and arms were spread eagle latched to hooks. While his eyes darted back and forth from Starsky to Quin, he remained quiet, in a resigned acceptance of what he knew was expected of him.

"Rule number one," Quin gave seriously, "you need a safe word. When this is spoken by the sub, everything stops. And I mean _everything_. The session is over, whether you had planned on an hour, a day or a weekend. The safe word is used when the sub absolutely feels as though he cannot go on for whatever reason. It is to be used extremely thoughtfully and **never** in jest. And the master must respect it with no judgement. In my experience I've rarely heard it and that's because subs know their limits while trusting their masters. And, more importantly, masters know just how far to go without taking it over the edge. It's a big responsibility, Dave."

Starsky looked intently at his lover chained silently against the wall, half hard erection prominently displayed behind the snug jeans. "No problem."

"Ken," Quin said in a low, formidable tone while looking Hutch directly in the eyes, "this is the only time tonight I will let you speak to me… and let you look directly at me. Pick a word that will stop everything."

Hutch opened his mouth and drew in a contemplative breath as he turned to latch his eyes on Starsky.

"If you can't think of one, you can just say _red_."

Still, no answer as Hutch kept his eyes only on Starsky looking for direction.

"Eyes on **me** , Sub." Quin pinched Hutch's chin in his hand snapping the blond head out of Starsky's line of sight. " **I'm** talking to you. **Answer me now. Safe word**."

Hutch didn't have to think very long or hard this time. "Vanessa".

"That'll do it," Starsky quickly added.

"OK, then. 'Vanessa' it is. Dave, start the session slow. Let your sub know your feelings for him. Give him confidence to trust you. The goal is to take him to the edge – almost get him there – then back down, and do it again. Wash, rinse, repeat."

Starsky got right up against Hutch, chest to chest. He gave Hutch a long, warm lick of the tongue from the collarbone up the side of the neck to the back of his ear. "Love you babe. Gonna cum hard tonight, I promise, but you gotta do as we say. OK?"

Hutch shivered as he released a breath, rolled his eyes up into his head and opened his mouth part way hoping to catch a kiss from his lover. Instead, Starsky stepped back refusing to give Hutch what he knew he wanted so badly.

By now, Hutch's trapped cock was trying to stand at full attention as he heaved his shaky breath in and out.

"Is he always this quiet?" Quin asked with a tilt of the head walking back and forth in front of the sub, studying him. Laying groundwork.

"Ah, no. Hardly," Starsky gave with a snort and laugh. "Unless we've been dealing with a rough case, then… ya know…."

"Hmmm. The quiet ones are always the most difficult," Quin thought out loud. "At least in the end." He stopped directly in front of Hutch and leaned in, putting his face against Hutch's ear. Not touching, not quite. "You smell… just… like… _**sex**_."

Hutch snapped his head and caught Quin's glare – blue eyes to brown.

"Don't look at me, Sub."

Even though Hutch was wearing a shirt, the grip Quin had on his nipple was felt from Hutch's head to his toes. It might as well have been pliers. He remained silent but anchored his head down looking agonizingly at the offending pincher.

"That's more like it. Subs never look at their doms. Never. Eyes down. Always."

His arms were stretched to their limit; his cock kept getting hard, then soft, then hard again. And all this while Starsky stood off to the side watching the show, just waiting for his turn.

Quin stepped away from the body strapped to the wall and rifled through a box put to the side. He returned with a larger version of the leather cuffs he had put on Hutch earlier. "This defines you. When you wear this you are no longer you. You belong. You belong to Master Dave." He handed it to Starsky and pointed to Hutch's neck. "Collar your sub, Dave. He's your now."

Starsky took the black leather collar and handled it, turning it over in his hands feeling the stiff molding of the contraption while marveling at the smooth finish and stainless steel hooks and grommets. The back of Hutch's head unforgivingly made contact with the padded wall as Starsky fitted the collar around his neck checking to make sure that it was nice and snug, but not too tight.

Quin was pleased with what he saw. "Someone is having fun." He groped Hutch thoroughly before unsnapping his jeans, raking down the zipper and roughly pulling his cock out. "Mmmm. Pretty substantial, boy."

Hutch protested but, still, without making a sound. Instead, he reflexively moved his knee up pushing Quin away.

"You gonna let him get pissy like that Dave? He doesn't get a say in this."

Starsky walked over to Hutch put his mouth to the blonde's ear and whispered, "Shhh, babe. Just let it go. Gonna make you feel so good tonight."

"You're not here to pamper him, Dave. And he's not here to be coddled. You need to establish your position… and his."

"Dually noted." Starsky put hands up in surrender and took two steps back away from Hutch.

"I've got some work to do across the hall. Dave, you can play with him. Pinch, bite, lick, slap…. Anything to establish your dominance. No breaking skin. No leaving marks where shirts don't cover. Watch for panic. "

"He'll panic?"

"He may get so far into his own head he's no longer able to judge his own tolerance and use his safe word when needed. During sessions it will be normal for him to make noises, moans, groans, maybe even scream; flinch, fight the restraints and be disobedient. Watch for when he goes outside his norm and panics, especially when you change things up. Don't be afraid to stop and ask him if you need to do something. Find out what his limits are: if there are things he just won't do. You have to be in charge of his physical and mental safety. It's on you to monitor him when he goes deep… and I bet he does."

"Sounds like there's a lot to this."

"There is. We'll get to all the details another day… while wearing clothes and sitting down."

Starsky nodded his understanding.

"And one more thing. Rule number two," Quin gave with a wicked smile. "Absolutely no cumming, Sub. Not now. Maybe later and only _**if**_ your master lets you." He grabbed Hutch's hard cock again pumping it slowly, masterfully, top to bottom eliciting a shameless moan from the blond. "Dave, you can stroke him, rub against him, kiss, suck, and nibble. But he is not to cum. If it looks like he is getting too close, squeeze the base of his cock like this…" Quin cut off the blood flow at the root quite painfully pulling a groan from Hutch. "Or give his balls a good hard tug. I leave that up to you since they're still tucked away in his pants. You should rectify that soon." It wasn't lost on either of them that Quin had stopped looking Hutch in the eyes. Master Quin was teaching Master Dave now while using Hutch. "And still, we have tall, blond and very silent. This one is going to be trying."

"He tries my patience every damn day," Starsky said with arms crossed in front of him. "Some days I just want to strangle him."

"It's your turn today," Quin answered looking from Hutch to Starsky. When he saw Hutch pick his head up and look at Starsky, Quin decided to be trying as well. "And you, Master Dave, look like your big cock is going to strangle too if you don't give it some release. Let's see how compliant your sub can be."

With that, Quin gently took Starsky's face in his hands and kissed him with exploding sensuality. Starsky didn't protest. He took what Quin gave him and was an active participant letting tongues mingle and lips plunder all while watching his wide eyed lover.

"Homework for you, Dave: keep count how many times he is out of line. I've got three so far." He then unzipped the detective-turned-Master's jeans taking out Starsky's thick rod. " _Nice_. I'm going to really enjoy our one-on-one Masters training session." This was all for Hutch's benefit and it showed. Starsky watched his lover the entire time taking in his lustful jealousy.

"Hey…", Hutch protested. " **HEY!** "

Quin inserted himself between Hutch's ear and chained arm. "Who do you belong to, Sub?" he asked in a low growl.

"Huh?"

Quin pounded the wall next to Hutch's head to get his attention. He got it. "Let's try this again," Quin asked even more assertively. " **Who owns your ass**?"

"Starsky," he answered eyes wide open.

"Who?"

"Dave." Hutch's voice quivered slightly.

Quin looked at Starsky with an invitation to learn, and then pulled hard on Hutch's cock with one hand earning him a whimper. " _Master_ Dave. Know your place, sub." He then took his other hand and gently took hold of Starsky's erect member as though putting it on display. "Look what you do to him, Sub. Seeing you like this pleases him."

Quin took note of Hutch's growing and hardening rod and moved back to Starsky. "Wow. Just seeing your cock or someone else touch you is a trigger for him. Doesn't take much." He moved in for one more wide open, loud kiss.

" **Enough** …" Hutch forced through a clenched jaw.

Quin never moved his face or eyes from Starsky. "That's four. Your sub needs taming." One more flick of his thumb over Starsky's dripping cock head and Quin moved in to breathe some final words into Starsky's ear. "Remember… great sex starts as a mental work out. Get him to the end of his journey with your words and barely-there touches first, and then deny him. Pleasure – pain. Pleasure – pain. You can never let him predict your next move. Enjoy yourself. _Feel_ your control. He _wants_ you to control." Giving Starsky a final nibble of ear and stroke of rod while taking ample note of Hutch's jealous eyes, Quin stepped back and moved to the door with a wink. "Carry on Dave. I'll close the door behind me."

"Starsk…"

"Shhh."

"Starsk…"

"No. Uh-uh. This is for me." He unbuttoned Hutch's shirt and splayed it open exposing the toned and silky chest from the golden pubes to his angelic face. "No talking, remember?"

"But I….. Ahhhhh."

Starsky made it abundantly clear with both a cock squeeze and a nipple twist. "I mean it."

Very slowly he pulled Hutch's shoes, socks, pants and boxers the rest of the way off all while purposely keeping his face next to the very erect cock. His breath tickled, his tongue made a swipe or two to catch the pre-cum. And Hutch was a helpless participant.

"Starsk…"

"Shut up." Starsky was still on his knees, hands stroking the backs of Hutch's thighs tremoring with desire, his mouth hungrily lapping up dribbles seeping from Hutch's painfully erect cock. He was enjoying the moment of lust. The moment…. The moment before he remembered that he was the Master.

He abruptly stood, leaving the now vacant spot next to his lover's painfully needful erect penis cold and empty.

"Oh, God." Hutch whispered between clenched teeth.

"No, babe," Starsky gave him with a quick half smile and sultry, almost sleepy voice. "Just me. Look."

Hutch looked over at a now pants-less Starsky stroking his own very hard cock. It only made Hutch hornier. "Touch me," Hutch begged with a shaky voice. Such willful and obvious begging as he thrust his pelvis forward trying in vain to get to his lover. " _Please_."

"No."

Hutch immediately recognized that look on Starsky's face as the one he sees when his partner is driven with scorching purpose, needing to get to the seedy truth. His eyes were dark, face resolute and hard. Hutch scanned downward past the erect nipples, toned and defined abs and settled on Starsky's left hand as it pleasured himself much to Hutch's chained up chagrin. And just when Hutch thought that visual alone would send him over the edge, Starsky reached down and fondled his own balls, stroking them, pulling and rolling them as his other hand pumped the huge cock. All for show.

Starsky reached over to the nearest counter top and grabbed two small plastic clips connected by a 12-inch length of chain. Remembering what Quin's impromptu nipple twist did for Hutch, he attached one to each red nub earning a tight lipped gasp from his sub. "There. See? I touched you." Starsky was totally turned on by his lover's reaction to the nipple clamps and leaned in to gently blow in his ear.

"What do you want, lover? Hmmm? You want me to suck you off? Finger your ass while I lick your balls? Rim you with my hot tongue?" Adding to the barely there breath on Hutch's ear, Starsky circled Hutch's navel with his index finger then traveled it down to his cock, just barely making contact with the overly sensitive skin.

Hutch opened his mouth, his lips quivering the slightest bit as only bits of sound escaped.

"Shhhh, babe. I know you want to fuck me. You want to fuck me **hard** and feel me squeeze your cock with my tight ass. I know you. But you get what you get tonight. And more than likely it will include my rock hard, huge, swollen cock in your snug, seldom used, almost… virgin… ass."

He was really enjoying the mental sex part of the bondage and nibbled Hutch's ear lobe taking it one step further when he heard Hutch exhale a very shaky breath. "Gonna use you, babe. Gonna teach you a few things. Some of them might not be pleasant for you. As for me….," with great purpose, Starsky bent his knees and rubbed his hard cock up the side of Hutch's thigh. "I'll let you be the judge."

Stepping back and turning his attention back to the counter top, the next treasure he found was a small wheeled tool, like a miniature pizza cutter, except with notched, blunt teeth. He turned it over in his hands while walking back to Hutch, then put it in the middle of the sub's thigh and trailed it up the length of his body leaving dashed red marks along the way.

Hutch's breath hitched as he took in the new, painful sensation. When it reached the thin, tender skin of his chest he rose up on his toes, involuntarily trying to stretch away from the notches of prickling pain.

"S-S-Starsk…."

Starsky casually let his hand fall onto the chain attached to both nipple clamps and pushed down on it receiving a low, guttural whimper of pain from Hutch. "No talking," he whispered enticingly close to the blonde's ear. "At all."

Hutch quickly turned his head and caught Starsky's mouth in a brilliantly soft, wet kiss groaning into it as he tried in vain to press his rigid pole into Starsky's naked thigh, but all he got in return was the master's hand wide, firm and strong on his face, pushing it 180 degrees in the opposite direction against the wall.

"You don't listen, do you?"

Hutch couldn't answer with Starsky's hand pushing his cheek painfully and quite deliberately into the padded wall.

"This isn't your show. It's mine. You are less than a dog tonight." As his hand kept the sub's face plastered to the side, Starsky looked around the room, his eyes darting from one curious looking toy to another until he found what he was looking for. "Close your eyes."

Hutch took a deep breath and did as he was told as Starsky let go of his face, but within seconds his master was back, this time placing a blindfold on his head. Darkness became Hutch's latest nemesis and he pulled in a startled breath.

"Trust me, Hutch." Starsky let just one finger tease up the length of Hutch's cock. "You're so hard. So close. But you haven't been completely cooperative, have you?"

Hutch shook his head, agreeing with Starsky.

"Too close, even." Starsky wiped the pre-cum pushing its way from Hutch's slit, dabbed some from his own hard cock, then smeared Hutch's lips with his combined-cum greased thumb. "Lick it, babe. Taste you. Taste me."

Just as Hutch reveled in the contact with Starsky's juices, he felt his scrotum being tugged callously towards the floor. " _ **Ahhhhh**_." The pain was enough to back off his hard on.

Starsky hadn't notice the clock move as he took Hutch to the edge time and time again, then back off equally as suddenly. Sweat beaded up on Hutch's face and dripped down his glistening chest. Starsky could almost hear the sub's heart pounding away as he continued to leave a trail of hickeys, bite marks and welts on Hutch's thighs, balls, stomach, chest and hips.

Barely able to stand on his feet – so close to letting his chained arms take on the total weight of his body, Hutch's head had gone elsewhere. He wasn't even cognizant of the whimpering sounds he was making when Quin quietly snuck in to stand behind Starsky.

"Blindfold, eh? Nice sensory deprivation," Quin whispered in Starsky's ear. "Sure you've never done this before?"

"I'm a good cop. I read people for a living. Hutch is War and Peace in Chinese. I know every word."

"I'm not surprised." Quin studied his students carefully. Hutch – the now totally mastered sub barely able to maintain some semblance of consciousness, and Starsky – the jacked up master, shoulders back, face firm and resolute. Both of them with hard, rigid cocks standing at painful attention.

Quin opened a cupboard and took out two black straps. "I take it you're egg shells away from blowing." He reached down and grabbed Starsky's balls, careful not to touch the sensitive head of his penis. "This will help you last. I'm going to put this on you and then you can do the same for him." The strap was deftly put around his balls and base of his cock stifling back any orgasm while pushing even more blood into the erect phallus.

"Christ. It's, ah…. _bigger_ ," Starsky exclaimed looking down somewhat astonished, somewhat proud.

"Yeah. Not surprised he doesn't let you up his ass very often, big boy. Now, his turn."

"Starsk?" Hutch turned his head in the direction of the hushed voices, a lazy trace of spittle falling over his chin.

"Ignore him for now," Quin directed. "He must be up to his limit in demerits."

"What are those," Starsky asked as he put the strap onto Hutch.

" _Tighter_ ," Quin instructed. "Demerits…. One for every rule broken. In his case, talking and acting out. He had four when I left an hour ago."

"Well, then I think we're up to twelve."

"Ouch. OK."

"What….?" Hutch's breath hitched as he tried to figure out what was going on. "What…?"

"Time to pay the piper, cowboy," Quin spat out as he reached up and unhooked Hutch's wrist cuffs from the wall. His arms were so heavy they fell down, one over each man. "He's spent," Quin astutely observed. "Good job."

After removing Hutch's shirt, Quin took the lead hauling the naked and cuffed sub over to the low leather bound table, wide enough to hold two people. There, with Hutch's back flush against Quin's chest with the Master's left arm holding him tightly across the upper chest, Hutch gasped as he felt his cock clutched and aggressively pumped.

"Feel that, Sub?"

Hutch let his head fall back against Quin's shoulder while uttering nonsense in his haze of ecstasy.

"Wanna cum, slut?" Quin's choking grip pumped Hutch fast up and down sparing no sympathy.

Hutch nodded as he inhaled deeply. "Yessss…."

With one final tug, Quin let go as Hutch neared the pinnacle.

"Don't stop…. p-p-please…"

Quin reached over to a pump bottle and filled his hand with lube. "Bring him to the edge," Quin lessoned Starsky while resuming just four more hard strokes before letting go, "then leave him." Several more rough strokes and Quin released the wanton cock again.

"No… NO…... PLEASE…" Hutch was crazy with want as Starsky took over. Five or six hard strokes, some teasing words and then he'd abandon Hutch's rock hard cock. Over and over again. Hutch became so weak Quin had to use both arms to keep him upright using his own tall body as a brace.

Finally, with Hutch no longer capable of forming words, saliva stringing down from his gaping mouth and no strength left in his body, Quin nudged him onto the table.

"Up on your knees, sub."

As slow and gently as he was trying to blindly get up on the table, Quin unsympathetically aided him, pushing his lower back, then when Hutch was on his knees Quin pressed his head and upper back down – hard. His head and chest were plastered to the table while his ass was exposed and high in the air. There was nothing _not_ humiliating about this.

"Stay there, Sub. Don't move."

Starsky watched Quin take Hutch's left arm and pull it out straight and perpendicular to his body chaining it to the side wall, then he did the same to the right arm. Starsky stood back and admired his lover's ass - round, muscled and spread high before him.

"Spread your knees," Quin ordered. "Wider." He stroked the globes of his ass before letting his finger slowly journey down the crack over his puckered opening and around his strapped balls, and then teased the swollen raspberry red cock one more time before abruptly stopping.

Starsky was in awe of Quin's ability to sense when Hutch was about to explode. Just watching him work his lover into a stupor threatened to put him over the top as well. What nearly did it for Hutch – and Starsky – was when Quin once again flogged Hutch's cock with his fist while two fingers of his free hand nailed his fresh asshole in matching strokes. Again with the orgasm teetering on edge, Quin pulled both hands free and stepped back leaving the blindfolded Hutch with no human contact and no relief in sight. What came from his mouth was a shattered, desperate sob.

"Put your tongue back in, Master Dave. You have work to do."

After washing his hands at the sink, Quin pulled a drawer open to reveal an assortment of paddles, floggers and straps. "Choose your candy, little boy."

Starsky drew his hand over the entire display his fingertips tremoring just slightly as the items triggered images of flogging, beating and whipping his sub. Without even thinking of it, his left hand traveled eagerly to his cock. "Um… what should I…?

"OK. First off, skip the floggers, canes and whips. No way should you be using those without serious training. Stick to the paddles for now. Or your own hand."

"Done the hand thing before." Starsky narrowed his choices to three. "Hurt me more than him." He settled on a narrow 16-inch leather paddle.

"Don't think you have to worry about that tonight," Quin remarked with a raise of the eyebrows. "He'll get his money's worth with that."

Hutch breathed heavily with the side of his face pasted down to the table, drool making an occasional accidental dribble from the corner of his mouth. Even small movements teased his sensitive cock as it bounced against the table.

Quin went to the head of the table and mercilessly grabbed Hutch's sweat laden hair pulling his head up and back looking right into his blindfolded eyes. "What's your safe word, Sub," Quin demanded of Hutch. "Hmm? Still with us?"

Hutch attempted a nod as jewels of glistening sweat trickled down his face. "Vanessa."

"Just checking." Quin turned and addressed Starsky. "Once in a while you have to check his mental state. Make sure adrenalin hasn't compromised his ability to maintain self-control."

"Sub, you have some answering to do," he pitched back to Hutch. "Twelve demerits worth." Quin put the sub's face down, moved back and directed Starsky to step up to the table. "The sub will count the demerits as he receives them."

Hutch tracked his eyes left to right under the blindfold not quite sure what to make of what was going on behind him. Just when he was settled in the thought that the night might be over and Starsky would give him a quick blow job, he was treated to a bright, **massive** blow to his ass and roared out in response as the pain soared through his ass and through every bone in his body. **"Ahhh… No, no, no…. STOP** _ **please**_ **!"** He followed that with a series of whimpers as his body quaked in involuntary shivers, tightening both hands into rigid fists around the restraining chains. The agony only got worse in the moments following the strike as blood rushed to the bruised tissue.

" _Hutch_?" Starsky was immediately at the head of the bed. " _Babe_?"

" **Stop**." Quin pulled Starsky back. "Don't you break out of master. Ever. He'll lose trust and confidence in you, especially these first sessions. If anyone has to, it'll be me."

"What?" Starsky's eyes widened with fear. He was so focused on his lover that everything Quin said was registering to him in slow motion.

Quin put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the back of the room out of Hutch's earshot. "He'll get scared, Dave." The two masters looked at each other and Quin waited for Starsky to relax. "Listen, what you saw was _panic_. We talked about that, right?"

"Terrific."

"Dave, he's OK. He's actually right where you want him and where he wants to be. You just got a little ahead of yourself. We'll change things up a bit, OK? That's what I'm here for. I've seen this before." Starsky moved his head from one side of Quin to the other not wanting to take his eyes off of a tremoring Hutch still strapped face down, red ass up on the table. "Dave?"

Quin aimed to keep himself directly in front of Starsky, moving with him as the trainee shuffled to keep his eyes on Hutch, but Quin wouldn't let him, finally putting a hand on his worried face to keep it stationary – to keep Starsky's attention directly on him. "Look at _**me**_ now, not him."

"Um…. Yeah."

"Yeah? This is important, Dave. You with me?"

Starsky closed his eyes and took a deep breath before totally focusing on Quin. "Yes."

"Good. OK. First, calm down."

Starsky nodded and crooked his neck sideways with a crack.

"Gotta start slow. Let him get the feel of what you're doing. You really have to build up to what you just did, alright? Hmmm?" Starsky nodded. "Ready to try again?" Another nod. "OK then. Give me a minute with him. Watch. Listen."

Quin walked up to the head of the table. As soon as he gently laid his hand on Hutch's sweaty hair the blindfolded sub defensively jolted back with a startled gasp.

"Shhh, Sub. It's Quin," he very softly spoke. "Talk to me. What's your name?"

Hutch puffed his cheeks out as he struggled to compose himself. Words were slow to get to his lips. "Hu….. Ahhh…"

"Hmm?" He was very caring as he stepped out of Master for the moment.

"I… wh…. wha…." Hutch swallowed hard as he struggled to focus.

"It's OK. Deep breaths. You're fine. You're safe. Starsky's right here." Quin moved a comforting hand to Hutch's back and placed it right in the middle, then rubbed his slick skin in reassuring circles. "You have to answer me, though, if you want to continue. OK?"

Hutch nodded his head. He felt his senses coming back to him.

"Alright," Quin continued as he gave Hutch's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "can you tell me your name?"

"Hutch. Uh… um…. Ken."

"That's better. Do you want to use your safe word?"

"N-N-No… No, Master."

"You know, unless you say 'Vanessa', _no_ doesn't mean no. It means nothing. Right?"

"R-R-Right. Yes." Hutch sucked in the saliva that had strung out of his mouth and attached to the leather table top.

"OK. Good. You're doing fine. You can take it. Master Dave is going to start over again." Quin took his hands off the sub and straightened up, closed his eyes briefly to get back into his master persona. "We have to resolve these demerits. Dirty whores like you have to be dealt with. If you clench your mouth too hard you might break teeth. That would ruin everything, right? The sub will ask for a gag if he feels this will happen."

Quin walked back to Starsky and spoke so both students could hear. "A gag isn't only for submission. It also protects the sub from turning himself into a toothless hillbilly."

Quin faced Starsky, again speaking very succinctly to only him, making sure what he said was being heard.

"I checked his mental status… made sure he wasn't over the edge or panicked. What I did there was let him know the Master is still in control and trust hadn't been broken." Quin placed the leather paddle back in Starsky's left hand. "Now, go take over. Show him who's boss. And tell him why he's being disciplined. A couple smacks on the more gentle side. Then you can hammer him into the floor. Remember, he'll let you know if it's too much. He's OK."

Starsky made his way back over to Hutch's raised ass. "Count the demerits, Hutch. That was one." He drew his hand back and gave Hutch's ass the second smack, albeit much less severely. "That's two."

"Two." Hutch repeated.

"Good boy. You're being disciplined for talking without being allowed, kicking out at Master Quin, and being belligerent."

Quin merely stood back, arms folded in front of him observing, only occasionally putting in his two cents. "Say 'yes sir', Sub."

"Yes sir."

Smack.

"Three," Hutch gave with a grunt.

Starsky continued the paddles and by five they cracked loudly and left red marks.

Hutch continued to count feeling every single inch of the paddle. He had to concentrate to keep track of the number while not falling apart from the pain. And he craved the sound of Starsky's voice, seldom hearing it since his 'sentencing'. After the seventh strike, there was a pause and soothing oil was rubbed over his ass cheeks. It took about thirty seconds for the sooth of the oil to turn to a burn as menthol permeated the air. His cheeks puffed out as he tried to blow the smarts away. Then, the paddling started up again.

"What's the number, Sub?" Starsky demanded.

"Um... ten?" Hutch could barely keep it together.

"Sorry. It was eight. Try again." And with that the hardest one yet rained down on his hot, oiled ass.

"… Nine. Ahhhh…"

After eleven, there was another pause as Quin traded paddles out. In Starsky's hand was an ornately carved wooden paddle with one word carved deeply in the middle, in mirror image: SUB.

"Hard and steady, Master Dave. Last one."

Starsky smiled knowing that he was going to label Hutch in a special place, in a secret way. He wasn't even sure he would tell him. Before giving Hutch his last paddle, Starsky reached down and gave his own hard-on a few tugs wanting so badly to explode, and then rubbed Hutch's raw ass cheeks with the smooth back side of the wooden paddle mentally placing the bulls-eye.

WHACK!

"….Twelve…. _Oh, God! Starsk_." His shoulders tensed as he turned his head face down into the padding. Hutch grabbed the chains that held his arms straight and tight to the sides and pulled them inward as though to hold in the pain.

Starsky was out of breath, peaked in desire and in awe of Hutch's ability to withstand the events of the evening.

"Check in with him again, make sure he hasn't gone over the edge." Quin dimmed the lights in the room and quietly spoke so only Starsky could hear. "Reassure him, Dave. Comfort him now. Help him to relax. But _never_ apologize. Almost done."

Starsky moved to Hutch and gently stroked his ass cheeks. "You did so good, babe. Took all twelve. Love you so much." He ran his hands over the red marks and outlined the welt that spelled "SUB" with a feather light finger. His cock jumped when he felt Quin's hand on his own back.

"Step outside with me, Dave. Let him rest. He's going to need it." As they got to the door, Quin turned out the light, not that a blindfolded Hutch would know.

Outside in the hallway, Quin looked Starsky up and down. "God, you're in this as much as he is. Look at you." His eyes were blatantly pointed down at Starsky's dripping, hard cock.

"Um, yeah, I guess. This is… I mean…" He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or appreciative. He was strung out.

"You don't have to explain, Dave. I totally get it." After Starsky took a deep breath and let it out, Quin put a gentle hand on his chest. "You have to decide how you want to finish this. Hand job? In his mouth? Mutual masturbation? Or… not at all. Not everyone in the scene incorporates orgasm into it."

Starsky tipped his head in a way that screamed _are you kidding me_?

"Yeah," Quin chuckled, "you're definitely a fucking live grenade. Both of you. So what is it? Hand or mouth?"

Starsky's eyebrows went up waiting for another option.

"You want to fuck him? Don't usually see that in the first session. Hell, I don't usually see most of what you guys did in a first session."

Angry cock in hand, Starsky started back in the room but was stopped by Quin.

"You want to make love to him, go home and have sex in a box. You want to finish this properly, do it my way. That means it's hard, messy and selfish. He wants it and he's expecting it."

Starsky nodded. "Your way."

"Hard, messy and selfish," Quin repeated with a nod from Starsky. "Use your sub for your orgasm. On top of the paddling, you hammering him with your big dick there is going to hurt him. Be prepared. Don't stop. Let it happen. Take him hard."

Starsky gave him a sideways horn-dog grin.

"You're going to be a great master," he smiled. "I'll make sure it's good for you too, don't worry. Just listen to me. Go with me and let go. You cum first, _then_ you bring him to heaven and back. After, you have to comfort him and love him. Get him out of his submissive headspace. Sometimes it takes effort to get them to come down. Fold him into yourself, clean him up and heal him. Always. It's called aftercare and is the most important part of the scene. Without it, the payoff is incomplete for the sub."

The lights were brought back up to a sensual dim when they came back into the room. Hutch was zoned out; his well-muscled arms still stretched taught out to the sides, chest and face flat on the table, his reddened ass perched above his kneeling torso.

Starsky immediately skimmed a finger up and down his sub's ass crack. When he started to put an eager finger inside, Quin planted his hand on his arm stopping him.

"Number one, the lube is right here," he said pointing to a bottle off to the side while keeping his voice to a near silent whisper. The training of the novice master continued. "Number two, remember, this isn't about gentle. You want to loosen him for you? Fine. One finger, but not for long. Then ride him home. Trust me. This isn't sex in a box. It can't be anything like that for you or for him during sessions. Don't blur the lines between the two."

Starsky reached over and pumped some lube into his hand then roughly pushed his middle finger into Hutch's opening eliciting a strained grunt from Hutch.

"Told you I was going to make you cum tonight, babe. But me first. I'm going to take you **hard**. I'm going to hurt you **good**. Going to hurt you until I **explode** inside of you."

Hutch threw his head back as Starsky's fingers hit his prostate – the holy magic button. "Oh, shit… fuck… _Starsk_ … _ahhh_."

With his free hand Starsky swatted Hutch's already stinging ass. "You don't get to cum yet, Sub," he scolded with intensity. " **Back** **off** ," he commanded as he pushed the sub's ass down knowing that the friction his cock was receiving from the leather table would just add to the intensity of the session.

"Yes, sir," Hutch corrected in a shaky whimper. "….Master…."

Quin stood away from the pair, confident that Hutch had no clue there was an audience and surprised that Starsky was so comfortable with it. He watched as Starsky manhandled his lover and controlled him.

After a few moments Starsky got up on the table himself and straddled Hutch's ankles. His bigger than normal cock was dark with need and easily lined up with the awaiting ass. Usually he had to go slow. He'd enter Hutch and wait for that initial burn to subside. Once Hutch was more comfortable, Starsky would start the slow fuck inching in a little at a time as Hutch relaxed and took him. Eventually the tissues would give enough that Starsky could ride him to a swift orgasm. It was a process with Hutch's tighter ass… a journey.

Not this night. Especially with his engorged, strapped cock. Starsky did what he always fantasized about while jacking off in the shower. He lined his cock up and drilled Hutch all the way to the core in one swift, brutal plunge then started fucking him like a rabid cat in heat. He pounded him. He rammed him. He owned him. Starsky felt as though his dick was on fire and the only way to put it out was to fuck that ass as hard and fast as he could with no regard to anything but his impending orgasm. He felt his own voice beginning to wear out as each brutal thrust was matched with an equally violent noise that somehow emanated from his mouth.

Hutch didn't know if he was screaming in pain or ecstasy. At one point the pain was so bad his cock deflated. Breathing was sporadic happening in gasps, between involuntary muted cries and only when he felt he would pass out if he didn't consciously take in a deep breath. His entire body shifted forward against the tension of the chained arms with each pounding thrust, and nausea threatened to take over. He put his lower lip to his top teeth very nearly shouting "Vanessa", but was overtaken by the thought that Starsky was perhaps living out a fantasy and about to achieve a massive orgasm. And then with one slight shift as Starsky put one knee up planting his heel firmly on the table, his prostate was prodded. His screams turned to erotic heaves and he begged for relief.

"Starsky, please… _**please**_ , touch... have to… need… cum."

" **No**. Not yet."

With each pounding Hutch felt what was left behind from the paddling. Together with the burn of the fuck and the stretch in his cramped arms, the sensation made him go into a zone in his head. ' _Give this to Starsky'_ , he thought. ' _Let him have ALL of the control'_.

Quin watched from behind as Starsky viciously pounded his sub. He knew that Starsky needed to back off.

"Slow down," he whispered in Starsky's ear. "You need to feel yourself cumming. Plan it. Anticipate it. Drown in it." The low growl of Quin's voice resonated with lust bringing Starsky into an almost hypnotic trance. He stopped thrusting for just a moment and leaned over Hutch's back planting a soft kiss on the blonde's back.

With that, Starsky felt an unbelievable sensation as Quin donned a tight, lubed, latex glove and inserted three, and then four, fingers into his rectum stroking him slowly, tantalizing his own prostate.

"Told you I'd make it good for you," he whispered again.

Starsky began moving in and out again enjoying the sensation of getting fucked while fucking Hutch. He had to concentrate just to keep from falling over.

"I'm going to release the strap on your cock," Quin continued ever so softly in Starsky's ear, "and after you cum, reach around and do the same for him. I'll see that he gets off. Make him beg for it. He has to know that he's earned it."

At the sound of the ripping Velcro the blood rushed up and back in his cock and with a few hard slams, he exploded. Usually Hutch was the noisy one, but this time the sensation was so other-worldly Starsky couldn't help but throw his head back and cry out over and over with each ripple of ecstasy.

Starsky fell forward over Hutch's back and, remembering Quin's instructions, reached around to release Hutch's cock from the harness peeling away just a bit of the Velcro before stopping. "What …. What do you want, babe," he asked between gasps while getting his own breath back.

"Please…," he begged.

"Please, what?"

"Touch… I need… Oh God, Starsk… Please…"

"Not enough, babe," Starsky reprimanded him, his mouth right next to Hutch's ear. "Beg me."

Hutch gritted his teeth and finally let out a guttural cry before taking a deep breath and getting out the first complete sentence he'd been physically able to the whole evening. "Please, Starsky. **Please** …. Make me cum. _Make me cum_. _**I gotta cum**_."

 _Riiip_! Starsky released the remainder of the Velcro holding the cock strap in place and started pumping his half hard sensitive cock again inside Hutch's battered asshole.

"Cum for me now, babe. Go ahead."

Hutch was making shivering noises from Starsky's strokes when he felt his cock become super engorged from the release of the strap. His head snapped back and his mouth opened letting out a howl as a hand came around and pumped him vigorously, tightly and with great urgency. The pain was now centered on his neglected cock as the hand punished it with rough strokes hitting all the right places. Starsky was lying mostly on top of him, breathing hard, stroking his back. Spent. Exhausted. His fingers trailed up to Hutch's mouth and dipped in begging to be sucked. "Love you, love you," he thought he heard him say. _Where were those hands coming from_?

Quin used his other hand to grab both sets of balls – Starsky's and Hutch's – and joined them together, hard. Starsky arched his back, surprised, feeling his sensitive, spent cock squeezed hungrily in Hutch's ass. It was over the top and his body jolted with a shock as one more, smaller, unexpected orgasm coursed through his cock. It was like having desert while on a diet.

Hearing his lover's moans, feeling his balls tugged hard together with Starsky's, and struggling to stay conscious as his cock was aggressively flogged by a ravenous hand, it didn't take long for Hutch to throw his own head back and release a high pitched, broken scream. As quickly as the clamps were rudely yanked from their mooring sending blood to painfully rush back into his nipples, his cum shot out in six long spurts hitting his chest and the table. He could not wrap his head around the different centers of pain and exquisite sensations. The relief was immediate and heavenly. And just when he thought he was done, the hand gave one more hard tug and fingers pressed deftly on his perineum, causing him to take a deep breath as though coming up from a near drowning, and shoot yet another stream of cum.

"Fuck. Geez. Oh **fuck** ," he grunted as his face slipped over the pond of thick drool that had accumulated under him. His heart raced, the blood rushing to his head and then straight back down making him light headed. It seemed as though he couldn't hear anything for the moment except his own heartbeat. Stars and then grayness invaded his consciousness.

There was some quiet movement in the room as Starsky slowly backed away from Hutch and pulled his spent member from the tight ass.

Hutch hissed in pain squeezing his watering eyes shut. He was vaguely aware of his arms being unhooked and laid down on the table, cuffs still attached. Very carefully, and in complete silence, he was moved onto his side, a pillow placed under his head. An exhausted Starsky still straddled his legs in exhaustion, hands propped on his hips panting heavily. Then Hutch's ass cheeks were spread and gloved fingers applied a soothing ointment to the battered opening. He arched his back and gasped in pain as more fingers painfully entered the burning anal tissues and deposited a healthy amount of the same salve in the sensitive canal, making a few swift, extra deep strokes. He heaved a painful breath and attempted to flail his useless arms but was too wasted to protest.

"Shhhhh," a strange voice tenderly came from behind, a gentle hand on the blonde head during the intrusion. " _Shhhhh_. Almost done." The voice was almost apologetic as the finger made one more painful reach before retreating. Then as the sound of latex gloves snapped off, "You're ok. Relax." Finally, a cold compress was pressed onto his swollen and used anus and perineum. At some point the blindfold was taken off. His eyes refused to open, making it a moot point.

"Dave," more whispers only Starsky could hear as he sat back on his heels, hands still on hips, trying to catch his breath, "I'm going to leave you two now for a while. Remove the cuffs and collar. Take care of him. Love him. Everything you need is here on the side table. Use everything there. Don't skip anything. Take your time. I started the physical care down there. The rest can wait until he's out of his headspace and back on earth. Start by holding him."

Before Quin left he gently wiped down Starsky's balls with a warm, wet cloth then wrapped the over sensitive, self -abused cock in it.

"What's this?" Starsky asked enjoying the warm hug of the moist cloth - a new post coital sensation.

"Doms need aftercare too. Take your time," he whispered with a soft pat to Starsky's back, and one to Hutch's thigh. "We'll talk later." Very quietly, Quin dimmed the lights and closed the door behind him.

Starsky moved in behind Hutch and spooned him, laying kisses on the back of his head under the sweat curled blond locks. "You good?"

"Y-Y-Yes…. Um… yes sir," Hutch automatically answered, locked in his submissive head space and still occasionally shivering from the shock of the session.

"No, babe. All done. Just…. just me now."

"Huh? All done?"

"Yeah, all done. God, I love you babe." He took both arms – dead weights – and unbuckled the cuffs dropping them to the floor. "You're the strongest person I know." The collar was next followed by loving kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders. "So good…."

"Mmmmm, yeah."

Starsky noticed that while his own heart was still racing, Hutch was composed and relaxed. Super sated with a steady slow heartbeat and even breathing, even though his entire body was soaked in sweat.

"You needed this, Hutch?"

No answer was OK as far as Starsky was concerned. Hutch was breathing deeply, either passed out or one with the sleeping dead: same thing. _He's so wasted_. He held him, caressed him, dotted the back of his neck with sweet kisses, but mostly he felt the rise and fall of his chest and took in Hutch's peaceful, even breaths. This was the Hutch he fell in love with, because this was the man who gave his heart and soul to anyone and everyone without ever asking the other to qualify need. He wondered what it would be like to be with the non-cop Hutch, but then realized that in order for Hutch to be unwound like this, he needed winding. It was his nature. And now he had discovered the _how_ of the unwind… for both of them.

Eventually Hutch arched with a stretch and leaned his head back for a kiss.

"You needed this, Hutch?" Starsky repeated.

"Yeah, babe. Needed this."

"Me too." Starsky stroked Hutch's chest down to the belly back and forth. "Did I hurt you?"

Hutch smiled and let out an involuntary chuckle. "Um, yeah."

"Sorry babe. I didn't - "

"It hurt, that's kind of the point. But you didn't _hurt_ me."

Starsky tightened his arm around his lover that much more. "Love you so much."

"Me too, Starsk. Can't even begin to tell you how much." The unwired blonde laughed. "That was wild."

"Pretty sure this isn't what Dobey means when he says _no private parties_."

Hutch pushed his butt back into Starsky as if he could get any cozier. "Um, babe," he gave his ass a wiggle rubbing against his lover's spent and tender cock, "were you growling?"

"Like, how?"

"What do you mean, like how? Growl… like an animal."

"Oh. I don't know. It's entirely possible." Starsky chuckled a little as he tried to remember, then nuzzled into the back of Hutch's neck licking up to his ear…. growling. "Just hunting my prey."

As Hutch giggled with a ticklish lick to the ear, he jolted back sending an elbow right into Starsky's…

"AH, geez….. _bladder_ , Hutch. That's my bladder."

"Hey dummy, how many times have I told you… go to the bathroom _before_ fucking my brains out?"

"Ha ha, very funny. You'll get yours." Starsky slowly got off the table and went into the bathroom. Taking a piss was a challenge.

"I think you bruised my dick," he light heartedly complained as he came back to Hutch's side.

"Me? You did it all, partner," Hutch gave back sleepily. "At least you can sit down."

Starsky looked at the side table and took stock of the items left behind. Cocoa butter for what he assumed was Hutch's sore cheeks, and Preparation-H ointment for the obvious. Two glasses of water. And something else.

"Babe. He said we have to use everything on this table."

"Like what?" Hutch didn't want to move, open his eyes or even breathe too hard.

He picked the box up and read the label. "Says… _disposable enema_."

Hutch craned his neck to see what Starsky was talking about.

"Uh-uh. No way, Starsk."

"And… numbing antibiotic ointment?"

With that, Starsky came back and softly spread the cocoa butter on the red and bruising ass cheeks, then removed the cold compress Quin had tucked snuggly against Hutch's perineum and anus.

"Babe? Are you OK?"

"Wanna sleep."

"Yeah, OK. But…" Starsky looked at the white covering on the ice pack stained with splotches of red, spread Hutch's ass cheeks and looked in again. " _I made you bleed_? Oh God, I'm…. You're bleeding. Well, maybe not anymore, I don't think, but I - "

"Can't be all that bad. I remember the first time I made love to you, you had some bleeding."

" -and it's kind of swollen… I'm so sorry."

"Babe. It'll heal. Just stop. Come here." Hutch patted the table and Starsky crawled up into his embrace face to face, legs intertwined. "I feel so released from the mass hysteria that was going on in my head. I can't explain it. But I loved submitting to you and having you in total control. And," he gave Starsky a playful grin, "I loved knowing you were _really_ getting off."

"Oh, I did."

"And I don't know _how_ you did it, but at the end it felt like your hands were all over me. Felt like my dick was on fire. You'll have to do that one again."

"Can't."

"What? Why not?"

"Hutch, how many hands did you feel?"

Hutch tried in vain to think back and count the myriad of sensations but the math wasn't adding up. "Well, ah… I…. how did you…?"

"That wasn't me, babe. Well, it was _me_ , ya know, _in there_ …. But the hands down there…"

"What are you saying, dummy?"

"It was the Professor."

"What?"

"Um, Quin. _He's_ the Professor."

"Quin was here when….?"

"Yeah, the whole time. Pretty much."

"He…?"

"Yep."

"….and grabbed my…"

"Mmm hmmm."

"…. The cold compress…"

"Wasn't me."

"…and… um, fingers and…. Cream or something… up there… "

"Oh. Guess that was the numbing antibiotic ointment. 'fraid so."

Hutch let it go for the moment as he digested the news with the memories. "You were OK with that?"

"Blondie," he laughed a little, "I couldn't form words at that point much less take care of you. I think he knows what he's doing. Remember, Huggy said to trust him."

Hutch rationalized that if Starsky was OK with it then he shouldn't question the contact, especially given the state of bliss they were in. "You know, earlier, when he kissed you and touched you it made me _furious_."

This made Starsky smile. "I know. I think that was his intention."

"Oh. Well…. It worked."

"Ya think?" Starsky put his hand behind Hutch's neck and drew him in for a warm, soft kiss. "You didn't seem to mind when he returned the favor and flew you to the moon just now."

"Guess not. And did he touch you too, ya know, when you came?"

"Oh, _**yeah**_. He's a fucking genius, that Professor."

"Apparently." Hutch let out a chuckle before speaking through a yawn. "How did he touch you? What did he do?"

"Save it. Someday I'll tell you over pizza and beer. Good beer."

Hutch hadn't opened his eyes more than twice since the explosion that rocked the century. As Starsky caressed his jawline, shoulders and chest, the blonde barely even moved.

"You relaxed, babe?"

"Don't think I can move." Finally, his eyes opened, the brightness only matched by his smile.

Starsky stared into the bright blue orbs and smiled back. "You…. It's such a chick thing, but… you make me whole, Hutch."

"I'll see that chick-thing, and raise you a soapy scene." Hutch put his lips on his lover's and slowly let his tongue taste the wanting flesh, then pulled away ever so slowly reveling in the shudder that came with Starsky's exhale. "You are my reason to breath." Kiss. "The sole purpose for my heart beat." Kiss. "My savior." Kiss. "My angel." Kiss. "And biggest…" Kiss. "…pain in the ass."

They both closed their eyes curled into one another like ying and yang, skin to skin, face to face. While Hutch remained unmoving, his body feeling like overworked sludge, Starsky lovingly traced the fingers of his free hand up and down Hutch's arm and back stopping every now and then to tickle his fingers with the golden curls.

"Ginger."

"What?" Hutch opened his eyes.

"You'd be Ginger."

"Shut up, Mary Ann. I'm trying to get my beauty sleep."

"Hutch, wasn't Mary Ann a nurse?"

"Farm girl. Gingham dress, pony tails. Whole nine yards…. Of checkered gingham."

"But she could have been a nurse?"

"Does it matter?" Hutch was half way between slumber and frustration.

"Does to me. At least right now."

"What's your point, Starsk?"

"It means that Nurse Mary Ann gets to take care of Ginger's bottom. Time to get you into the bathroom for some TLC."

"Ginger and Mary Ann were lesbians?"

It was a hum or a buzz. Hutch heard a hum, but his ass definitely felt a buzz and the vibration traveled right to the base of his spine. If he shifted his ass just slightly to the left or right the butt plug produced a searing pain on the sensitive tissue, so he was relegated to laying like a soldier… a tethered, plugged, bound and thoroughly ravaged soldier.

He'd been left alone again but for only a short time. When Starsky returned he turned off the vibrations on the butt plug, then resumed his feather light touches skimming his fingers ever so slightly over Hutch's chest stopping to drag his fingernails from the navel to just above the root of Hutch's hard cock, then returned to the barely there touches. The drastically different touches bouncing from nearly tickle to burning pain sent the sub into deep, deep head space with sporadic involuntary groans and sharp breaths.

He didn't even realize Starsky had released the ankle cuffs from the footboard of the bed until Hutch felt leather straps around his thighs just above the knees and his knees being pulled back almost to his hips and splayed wide open as the snick of the metal hook to the wall behind him sparked his eyes open.

"Drink," Starsky ordered, shoving a straw into Hutch's mouth. "You need to stay hydrated. All of it," he urged. "You're gonna need it."

After Hutch had taken in the entire glass of water, Starsky sat on the side of the bed next to Hutch's hip.

"Beautiful, babe," Starsky nearly whispered as he palmed Hutch's strapped cock dipping his middle finger up and down the blonde's ass crack. "You've had transgressions. You need to be punished, lover. Yes?"

"Yes…" Hutch managed. "Y-Y-Yes sir."

"How many?" Starsky prodded as he removed the nipple clamps one at a time earning himself a jolt of agony from Hutch times two.

"I… _Ahhhhhh shit_ …. I… I don't know."

"I know of at least eight," Starsky answered rubbing the painful protruding nipples, "but it could be infinite. Start from the most recent and go backwards, babe."

"I spoke without permission."

"That's right," Starsky nodded as he picked up the imposing black handled riding crop. Starsky knew this was Hutch's most hated form of punishment, but after the last couple weeks of sheer hell at work, constant bickering at home, and Hutch's self-imposed silent treatment with no explanation, Starsky felt that he had no choice but to go for the big guns. He raised his left arm and brought the loose leather flap of the crop end down hard on the inside of Hutch's thigh.

The hard sting of the swipe on the tender skin made Hutch jolt all four of his limbs against their restraints. He knew it was coming. In fact, considering the unsteadiness of their relationship coming into this session, Hutch predicted that the riding crop would be making an appearance. Starsky was pissed at him. Royally pissed at him. And the guilt Hutch was carrying gave him a deserving attitude. But Starsky didn't know everything. Not yet.

"Ahhhhh!" Hutch had squeezed his eyes shut and didn't see that one coming.

"That's two. What was that one for, Hutch?"

"Two," Hutch repeated following the rule to count the blows. "Um," he had to take a few short breaths to regain his composure, "ah… I refused the ball gag."

"That's right. And…?"

"I slept on the couch." Another lash was added to the first two. " _Three_ ," he whimpered.

"Yeah. **That one**." He was showing his anger now. "Wonder why this is the first time you've not been blindfolded during punishment?"

Hutch regressed back to silent mode.

"Huh? You know why? Because I want you to see how much you hurt me. Now, let's get the rest of the first eight out of the way before we really hash out what you've done."

Starsky added a fourth snap to Hutch's left thigh before changing the crop to his right hand and quickly evening the blows to the other leg. As the crop cut through the air it made a _whish_ sound giving Hutch a second to prepare for excruciating snaps to the inside of his thigh.

"Eight… _God, Starsk_ …." He cried out, his back unsuccessfully arching away the agonizing pain.

"What else?"

Hutch didn't know how much to say. Didn't know what answers Starsky wanted. His own silence had forced his angry partner to assume the answers and Hutch wasn't sure Starsky really wanted the truth. So he said nothing.

"Hmm? I said, **what else**?" Again, with no answer, Starsky raised the crop and laid a multitude of slashes into Hutch's inner thighs ignoring Hutch's cries and thrashes of his body. "Try trust, Hutch. You don't _**trust**_ me anymore."

"I read your mail," Hutch finally shouted prompting Starsky to suddenly stop and stare at the end of the crop. He was surprised that he had come to this. "I went through your mail," Hutch repeated. "I called your doctor's office and pretended to be you. And I followed you when you went out."

"I'm not seeing that nurse, Hutch."

"I don't care about that. I mean I did at first, but…" Hutch was beyond session rules. "You think I thought you were cheating on me?"

"Hutch, I turned you down every time you wanted to make love. And I know when you picked me up at the doctor's you saw me hug that nurse. I'm not blind."

"I never thought you were cheating."

"Then why did you go through my mail and follow me? Why did you call the doctor's and pretend to be me?"

"You were acting funny. And you've never said no to me before. And you were real tired."

"We were both tired, Hutch. It's been a bitch of a week with the trial testimonies and two 3am murders."

"You had appointments with the doc and didn't tell me. And when you got in the car after I picked you up you didn't say a word. You were real quiet." The previously imprisoned words and thoughts were just flowing now. "A few days later that letter came from the doc that said your test results were in and you needed to call them. I freaked out. Starsk, they never want you to go in for test results if it's good news. I thought you were… I was hoping you would tell me yourself. I mean are you…?" Hutch struggled to maintain his composure but the tears were completely independent and streamed down his temples. "I want to know. Is it bad? Are you dying? I keep thinking it's something real bad."

Starsky dropped the crop where he was standing and went to the head of the bed. "I'm not dying, babe," he struggled to get out as he wiped away his lover's unending tears.

"Then what? W-W-Why?"

"I was having a problem with…" Starsky turned away from Hutch and pinched the bridge of his nose. It always worked for Hutch when he was stressed. Didn't do much for Starsky at that point. "It was my… my nuts. I was having issues down _there_ and didn't want my lover to get all clinical with me."

"Like testicular cancer?"

"STOP with the dying shit, Hutch. I'm not dying. I had nut problems."

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you aren't my buddy anymore, babe. You're my lover. You do special things to me down there. The big guy turns you on and makes you hot. When something is wrong down there I don't exactly want you to look under my hood and check out the spark plugs."

"You're OK?"

"Yeah. They checked for STDs to rule them out just because of our, ya know, lifestyle – as if all gay guys sleep with every dick they see. They never give results out over the phone for those."

"So what was it?"

"I had one of the sac things get bigger than the other for about a week. They said it was something called a hydrocele… I was leaking fluid or something. They drained some off with a needle but by the time all the test results came back – and they were all good – it got better."

Hutch's eyes moved down to the area in question. "It looks fine now. I mean, better than fine…"

"Told me to wait another week before sex. By then I found you had opened my mail and tried to get information from my doctor over the phone. I saw you following me to the doctor's for my follow-up appointment and was convinced you thought I was cheating. The nurse there was dealing with a brother who was having drug problems. What you saw was her thanking me for recommending a treatment facility the courts would approve of. So, the judge on his case suspended jail time."

They looked at each other through the silence as the explanation was digested.

"I'm sorry." Hutch's shoulders were beginning to get to the end of tolerance for restraint and he shifted to try to get some relief. "So sorry. I thought…"

"You thought I was dying, I know. I'm the one who should be sorry. I just hammered you with that crop." Both men took deep breaths as they brought themselves back to the here and now. "Let me get these. It's kind of silly now…" Starsky reached up and unhooked Hutch's wrist cuffs from the wall over his head. "I broke Quin's cardinal rule and brought our spat to a session. We should just…. I don't know. Go home."

"No."

"What?"

"No, Starsk. Don't stop." Hutch reached his still cuffed hands up to Starsky's face and drew it down to his, kissing him gently at first, then with great resolve. "Let's finish this." Kiss. "Tell me." Kiss. "Tell me what you want to do."

Starsky quickly moved his free left hand down to Hutch's cock and briskly stroked it back to size. Hutch's own hand seized Starsky's organ and pulled it towards his mouth. Much of the session was thrown out the window as Starsky was letting Hutch make decisions. A knee up on the bed next to Hutch's head and he was in fucking heaven. He loved seeing his cock deep in the blonde's mouth and, oh boy, could he suck cock.

"Tell me," Hutch demanded as he pulled off Starsky's cock with an audible slurp.

"For now I'm gonna play with your strapped and caged cock until it hurts." Starsky drew in a loud breath as Hutch took his cock back in his mouth and fucked it royally, stopping every tenth stroke to tickle the sensitive underside and roll his _healthy_ balls in his hand. "I'm gonna… _Oh God, babe_ … I'm gonna fuck that gorgeous ass of yours with your knees chained up just as they are."

Starsky started to move to the next logical step but stopped suddenly. "Babe, Hutch, give it a break, for just a minute, OK? Just take it out."

Hutch figured Starsky was close to coming and quickly did as he was asked only to feel his ass being violated in reverse as Starsky took out the butt plug which had seated itself in there with the lube having dried up. "Oh, _fuck_ , **shit** , Starsk. Warn a guy, will ya."

"Sorry babe, there wasn't another way." Starsky moved to the foot of the bed between Hutch's knees quickly inserting three very lubed up fingers into the wanton ass. "Better?"

"Mmm, yeah, Oh babe. Right… _there_!"

Starsky pounded Hutch's prostate mercilessly while jacking his cock off with the other hand, except the cock harness was preventing any kind of ejaculation. "More, Hutch? How much more can you take, babe?"

His arms were no longer restrained but he kept them draped over his eyes attempting to maintain composure as he was driven to potential release. "I can't… need… _please_ …"

He didn't need to say any more gibberish as Starsky plundered his ass with his own hard cock. One stroke in the already stretched canal and Starsky started pumping in and out, finally giving each of them what they wanted.

"Yes… oh… YES BABE." Hutch reached down – bondage cuffs still buckled to his wrists – and grabbed either side of his partner's curly haired head forcing Starsky to look in his eyes. "Love you, Starsk. Love you _**so**_ much."

Those blue eyes surrounded by the sweat laden shiny blonde hair stopped Starsky in his tracks. He had pulled out all the stops in this session. He had inflicted pain, torture and denial more than ever, yet the only time Hutch broke was when he confessed that he thought Starsky might be dying – when simple love made an appearance. That, and Hutch-guilt.

"Starsk? Babe, what's wrong? Why did you stop?"

"Nothing. I just… I love you too." Still implanted in his lover, Starsky unhooked the leather leg straps around Hutch's thighs from the chains letting them fall to the bed, then reached for the lube and generously coated Hutch's very engorged cock before climbing up on the bed and straddling him. "Need to go slow at first, babe. At least until you're all inside."

Hutch's eyes widened as Starsky impaled himself onto his cock. "Starsk… the… _the plug_ … the ring and plug…"

Starsky's head was thrown back as he very slowly sat down on Hutch's super engorged cock. Once all the way down he opened his eyes and smiled. "Feels different, that's for sure. And you can come through the plug. Remember, it's hollow. It's safe as long as we're careful. At least that's what the gal said at the shop. It'll just take… _Ohhhh_ … It'll just take more effort, blondie."

With that Starsky moved vigorously up and down, faster and faster, sweat pouring from his face, down his chest and onto Hutch's own sweat glistened belly. Reaching down, Starsky released Hutch's cock from the harness then, predicting the almost immediate orgasm, jacked himself off hoping to cum at almost the same time… which he succeeded in doing. They both groaned, then, after Starsky had cum all over his hand, he noticed Hutch still thrusting up into Starsky, his face contorted. Finally as his eyes flew open, he threw his head back and screamed. " **Starrrrrrrsk**!"

Nothing – NOTHING – had ever felt that good. Hutch felt his insides coil in orgasm then slowly pump the magic fluid up his tightly hugged cock. He actually had to push as though he was peeing to get it through the ring and around the plug. This wasn't an event…. It was a voyage.

"Hutch…Babe…" Starsky put his hands, palms down, on his lover's sweat laden chest, still straddling his lover. "Slow down."

"Can't," Hutch gave between gasps as he thrust upwards into a stationary and accepting Starsky. "I just… keep… cumming… _Oh_ _GOD_!" The waves of pleasure seemed endless and he wondered what would stop first: the orgasm or his heart.

Finally Hutch's body stilled. At least his pelvis did. The rest of his body trembled, tremored, shivered and shook.

"Hutch? Babe?" Starsky grinned stroking the sweat shimmered chest under him. "At least open your eyes."

"Can't." Hutch puffed out his cheeks and took a few deep breaths. "You sucked the life out of me."

"Not really. I mean, _you_ sucked. _I_ fucked."

"Tit for tat."

"No tits. Lots of balls. At least on your part."

They both laughed as Hutch finally opened his eyes and lovingly gazed up at his partner stroking his hands up and down Starsky's arms before finally settling the palm of his right hand on the darkly haired abdomen in front of him.

"I'm still inside you," he said pressing hard to try and meet his own cock nestle in the warm, tight canal.

"Mmm hmmm." Starsky wiggled his butt and squeezed his southern muscles just enough to acknowledge the obvious. "Being inside you – you being inside me…. It's the closest we can ever get to each other. Like the ultimate hug."

Just a bright smile. That's all Hutch needed to give his lover to agree with him. "Got some hardware in there, dummy."

With that, Starsky very carefully lifted himself off of Hutch's pelvis and let the spent penis fall onto Hutch's belly. "That felt…. unique," he grimaced as he closed his hand around the organ and lovingly stropped it up and down using his own deposited semen and leftover lube as it deflated back to normal size.

"Oooh, hey… Starsk…. It's sensitive and… ouch…. Sore."

"Sorry," Starsky apologized as he lifted the metal cock ring from around the bulbous head and slowly pulled out the intruding 2-inches of plug from the urethral slit. "Probably should take a good, long piss soon."

"'fraid to."

"Don't worry, Ollie. I'll hold it for you."

"Leave me with _some_ dignity, Gordo."

Starsky wiped his slick hand on the corner of the sheet then nestled down beside Hutch, legs and arms intertwined. "We're a mess, ya know."

"Yep. We usually argue about who has to sleep on the wet spot, but I suspect it's not just a spot."

"Nope. More like a region."

Hutch placed a series of soft kisses on Starsky's forehead. "I'm good with just staying like this."

The late day sun sliced through the window and found Hutch's golden strands all curled from the sweat and stuck to his skin. Starsky lifted himself up and planted his forearms on each side of his golden love's head. "I am in awe of you most of the time. You spent the last few weeks thinking I was sick and not sharing it with me, then come out here and submit to my insanity?"

"Control, Starsk. You needed it as much as I did. And I figured it might be the last time…"

"Here we go again." Starsky leaned in and passionately kissed the gorgeous blonde. His open mouth took all of Hutch, his tongue sweeping against the other. If he could breathe in all that love through the kiss, he would. "Not dyin', babe. Remember?"

"I know. But that's what I was thinking before I knew."

"Too much of that, Blondie," Starsky said tapping the forehead just north of where he was kissing. "Thou shalt not think too much."

"You know, Starsk, we always used sessions to relieve stress from work."

"So if our sessions are work related, can we write 'em off?"

"Did you save the receipts, Starsk?"

"Does Gilligan dog paddle in the bay?"

Hutch looked knowingly at him. "You did not. You never save receipts."

Starsky shrugged. "Course not. What was I gonna do? Take the leather paddle back to the store and say it was the wrong size? 'Excuse me, ma'am. But this butt plug doesn't sparkle…"

Hutch moved the conversation back to the point at hand with a finger over Starsky's mouth which was open and primed for another joke. "What I was going to say is, this session was all about, I don't know…"

"Domestic issues?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Starsky put his head down on Hutch's chest listening the steady heartbeat. "We really shouldn't do that, ya know, use our sessions to communicate personal issues."

"Ahhh. The Professor knows. The Quin Effect."

"Yeah, one of the rules."

Hutch buried his hand in the mop of dark curls on his chest. "You want us to do like dogs do and sniff each other's crotch… have it out in the fenced in yard?"

"What would Quin say?"

"I think he would say the dog needs tying up."

Starsky pushed himself up and moved to the top of the bed sitting alongside Hutch. "I wouldn't mind sniffing your crotch, Rover," he said sporting a quickly inflating cock.

"This dog needs a bath first. Then…," Hutch reached out and took the cock in hand, stroking it ever so slowly stopping to push at the sensitive crease under the slit. "…then I'm going to make love to you. All night.

"Woof, baby. Woof." With a guttural growl, Starsky bent down and sucked on the most sensitive part of Hutch's neck just above the clavicle earning a lustful moan. "Gonna go hunting myself."

END


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